Secrets to be Guarded
by WarLordEra
Summary: "'Welcome to John Polly Dori School. I'm your new teacher.' Sharon stares at her and only one thing came across her mind: even school teachers can be dangerous kidnappers." Chris spirals down his obsession while Thomas tries to help him but his "other job" prevents him. Delving into mysteries and strange cases appearing. Right now, Brahams is looking almost as bad as Silent Hill.
1. Prologue

_Hello everybody. This is my first fanfiction and hope you enjoy reading it. Please feel free to leave comments or reviews._

_First off it's a story filling the gap between the 2006 Silent Hill film and Revelations (though I made this before any mention of a sequel) based off the 1st and 3rd games. This is a slashfiction (more of a Ho Yay or Preslash?) between Christopher Da Silva and Thomas Gucci. _

_Initially I wrote this because I've heard there's more femmeslash for the movie, and I wanted to write a quality story with the two men and took about a year to (sporadically) write it._

_I think of this more as a filler that takes place mostly out of Silent Hill with more normal scenes but with some horror and mystery._

_Note: I do not own Silent Hill. Based off the games created by Konami. There are no explicit scenes nor true love aspect. Contains mature themes. May contain spoilers for 1st and 3rd game, and the film. May be subject to edits. I also just chopped up the chapters._

* * *

Prologue

It's a glaring sunny morning in the park of Silent Hill, sitting on the bench is a father and son, both with jet black hair and silvery blue eyes. Thomas Gucci, the young boy, and the man watches as a girl across the playground plays hopscotch with her friends. He studies her feminine characteristics, her dress twirling around her ankles as she makes a hop, her long, blonde hair bouncing over her baby face.

But Thomas is more interested in the expensive suit his father wore and his nicely combed hair. Something special must be happening today, he thought.

"Remember to always go for the beautiful women, once you grow old enough." his father spoke, "And remember to be their perfect knight in shining armour. You've gotta protect them, love them." His father, usually so cheerful, stares coldly ahead.

"Beautiful is blonde hair and blue eyes, right?" The son asks to which his father nods. "If I'm going to save them, does that make me a superhero?"

The corner of his father's mouth wrinkles, a slight smile. "Yes, of course. Save the world and protect them."

He watches questioningly as his father leans back and lights a stick, which he inhales then exhales to a wispy stench.

Birds flutter in the trees above them in a ray of sunlight, behind them is the crashing waves of Toluca Lake, a sweet smell in the air of cotton candy and sodas from a nearby stand all envelop Thomas, causing him to wonder why they weren't enjoying today. He hasn't seen his mother lately...were they waiting for her?

He feels his father's warm hands on his shoulders, and looking up at him, Thomas sees watching an approaching figure, a woman, in her hands she's clutching a small leather book. She was beautiful in her orange dress and hat, her golden hair tied back, "That's your mother. Go on and meet her."

Excitedly, Thomas jumps up and hugs her expecting his father to join, but as he looks back, he sees the man crouching low with his hands in his face, the stick burning out next to him.

"Come on, Tommy." His mother's voice chimes, coaxing him away, further away until he couldn't see his father anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Over at the docks in Brahams, at the newly opened fireworks factory, the fire dies down with walls and ceilings crumbling. Police officers secure the area while a newscast films the entire process. One officer just arrives at the scene, glimpsing the camera eyeing him as he steps out, but ignores it and meets another officer.

"I was informed we already have suspects?"

"Hey, Inspectin' Thomas Gucci. Yes, of course we do." A young officer points towards two cars containing three men.

"Great. Have them put up for questioning. I'll handle the rest." Thomas turns and walks away until pausing, hand at chin and contemplating before quietly asking, "There's no...dead bodies, are there?"

"No, sir. No casualties."

He almost breathes a sigh of relief and continues on his way. The massive factory is charred, nearly collapsing, but it would survive.

Up to the docks and to the highway are filled with police officers surrounding the area. While surveying the scene, a woman weeping comes forward.

"Are you Inspector Gucci? Oh, my god...you're the one that solved my sister's case. Thank you so much. I've always wanted to thank you, but I'm just visiting. Didn't have the time then." She shakes his hands.

"I'm sorry, but you are...?" Thomas asks.

"Oh! How silly of me. I'm Mrs. Jackson, my sister's was Miss Stori. She was murdered...dismembered..." She wipes her nose, her green eyes glistening. She flips her red hair away from her wet face.

"I'm sorry. Excuse me. It just meant so much to me that you found her killer. You're a hero."

"I'm not a hero." He says, fidgeting with his leather gloves. "But your welcome, I'm sure you got along well with your sister."

The woman's face turns to surprise. "No, not at all. We never talked for over a year. But I still loved her. That's what family is, you know? I still loved her even when we hated each other."

Thomas is quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. Behind her the workers are busy clearing the area, he is reminded of his job once the woman turns to leave. He stutters a few words but nothing really comes out, she had already left. Once collecting himself, Thomas Gucci resumes his job with a prolonged sigh. All he was grateful for was that there was no body count today.

* * *

It's early, but Christopher Da Silva has been up for hours, waiting impatiently, not even bothering to change into new clothes or fix himself up. In all the rooms are sheet coverered furnitures and boxes piled near the doorway, one propped open with papers inside.

Christopher Da Silva leans against the cold counter, he has his cold coffee and an old newspaper next to him; stained, wrinkled and weeks old, the front page news shows a picture of a missing family who disappeared near Silent Hill. This was just the many common stories that hasn't had much media attention over the past couple of years. His newest hobby as a writer has given him that much to go on.

Though his cup is full, Chris never takes a sip, instead he fiddles with his wedding ring, checking out the window and watching it constantly. The hand of the watch ticks away. That's it, he thought, I'm not wasting another minute waiting for those lazy movers. He takes a coat, walking out he enters his car and drives out of town into the next city of Brahams.

A few hours later, Chris arrives in the city and parks in front of a police station. He rushes in and immediately demands, "Where's Inspector Thomas Gucci?"

"Good morning, Chris. Here to bug the man again?" A bald man behind the desk laughs, his beard covering his mouth. "I'm sorry but he's busy today."

Chris leans on the counter. "Can I just speak with him? It won't be long."

The officer looks up and strokes his beard, looking at him thoughtfully before brightening up. "Hey, uh, didn't you join that group in town? It's good that you're finally getting some support since your family died."

"They didn't die. They're missing. There's a difference." Chris shoots him a cold glare.

"But why Braham's? Doesn't it take hours to drive here?" The man says, apparently ignorant of Chris's feelings.

"Where is Gucci?" Impatience nags him, quickly scanning the area when he spots that officer across the room.

Da Silva storms across the room and within earshot of Thomas Gucci. Thomas acts preoccupied with some papers and looking longingly outside.

"Excuse me, but about my wife's case-" Chris stands firmly in the middle of bustling officers.

Thomas glances annoyingly at the bald man at the desk who shrugs his shoulders before resuming back to work.

"You're not allowed back here, mister." An officer calls out and makes her way to Da Silva.

Thomas takes this opportunity as the distracted Chris's attention is turned elsewhere, all he wants is his well-deserved freedom away from that husband.

"Excuse me, Gucci!" Chris tumbles but balances himself. stopping the officer at the doors, Behind them is the morning light of the grey day. When Thomas senses his failed attempt, he smiles at Christopher, as if just noticing him. "Oh, good morning, Da Silva. A bit early for today, isn't it?"

"Listen, it's been months. Months!" Chris says frustrated. "And you haven't found a single shred of evidence about what happened in that accident. Where is my wife and child?!" Chris bellows furiously, but maintaining his posture.

"We've looked in and around Silent Hill, sent out missing posters, and all the towns are in alert. My guys have done their very best, Da Silva. What do you propose we do next?"

For a moment, Chris is at a loss for words, not knowing just exactly what else the police could possibly do for him at this point, so long after the case first started. To the surprise of him, Thomas gently places a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.

"I heard you joined a support group? That's good. It's a step forward."

"I'm only checking it out for now. It's been highly recommended back home." Chris says loudly.

"Yeah," Thomas says dismissively. "It's incredibly convenient for you now, isn't it? Now you can pop in here on the way to the building, and maybe even have a little surprise visit to Silent Hill."

"Whatever. I have your number." He pushes the doors open, saying the words with a threatening tone. Brahams was mere hours from his hometown where he could easily access his home and Silent Hill. Even in the same city as the officer, though, Chris guessed that he would never have a chance to accidently come across Inspector Gucci conveniently.

Thomas makes sure he gets into his car, the man whose case he was supposed to be working on, the Da Silva missing case from Silent Hill. Christopher had power and money, causing problems for the police with threats if they discontinued the case. Now they had some kind of agreement but even then with some difficulties.

The next thing he knew, Chris is sitting on a folding chair in a circle with other men, all taking turns talking about what they were feeling and going through. Obviously, it was very emotional, some expressing denial and a sense of how unreal it all was.

"And you, what about you Christopher?" A woman asks, pen and paper in hand.

He looks around the room to see everybody staring at him, waiting for him to say something. He wasn't like them. He knew his family wasn't dead. They were kidnapped. That had to be it.

"I feel like killing myself." He unexpectedly mumbles.

Some men coughs while others listen empathetically through their own experiences.

"You feel like committing suicide?" The woman asks, eyebrows raised.

He rolls his head back. "Well...no. I guess not." He shifts and fiddles with his wedding ring. "The moment I met Rose, I knew I had to marry her. I knew I wouldn't love any other woman. Ever since her parents passed, I wanted to protect her..." A long pause ensues, his throat tightening and eyes burning. The only problem was that Chris didn't save Rose in the end. Instead he let her go with their daughter alone where they had their accident. He couldn't even have a proper burial for them without the bodies.

"And...?" The woman waves her pen, motioning for him to continue.

"Goddammit! What the hell do you want me to say? That I miss them? That I know nothing will ever be the same again?"

"Chris-" She holds up her hands calmly.

"No! What's wrong with you people? She could be held hostage right now and all anybody could say is to just let it go!" He violently kicks his chair, face contorted in anger, his steps out quickly disappearing as he leaves a troubled group of widowers behind.

Outside, he slams open the door, tripping on the uneven floor and falling against the wall. His breaths are heavy and his head hot. As he tries to unlock his car door, the keys jingle, the morning sun glaring in his face, every truck, car and motorcycle roaring pass him as if he was nothing. He only came as an excuse to visit the city to check up on Gucci. As if that would have changed anything. He knew what everybody was thinking, that he was the one that sent his family running away, vanishing without a trace.

Within a week Chris settles on a hasty decision which led him to abandon his house and take up a temporary one until the case was solved and Rose returns. His daughter, Sharon too. he rented a small house in Brahams and moved all his personal belongings and took only what he could easily pack away. He left everything else behind in his old home. What's left of that extravagant house was ghostly furnitures and locked bedroom doors where not an item was touched.

Yawning and collapsing onto the sofa, Chris examines this new alien world; an unsettlingly large kitchen and living room but a comfortably sized bedroom; walls were completely bare but a single framed painting of a very famous figure; with flowing hair and hands clasp together. On a large box -acting as the coffee table- sits a brand new laptop, nestled under is piles of paper.

After half an hour of silent failure just staring at the blank screen, he is unable to continue his novel,

He flips open his cellphone. No messages. Not even his friends called, but most of all Rose. As long as he kept it, he was sure she'd call again that she was fine and returning home. As long as that hope held up, he would never get rid of that cellphone. But moving was useless as everywhere he looked was no different from home: same kind of city environment, women of all ages resembling Rose Da Silva, and Officer Gucci's futile efforts still proven useless.

Chris flings on his jacket and heads out to the night of the city to escape.

. Aimlessly wandering he finds himself in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, every bright neon lights fought for his attention, and the sounds was of a stifled city filled with out of place giggling and drunken yells.

Taking another swig of the strong alcohol, Chris starts hearing voices in this strange city. Chris couldn't make sense of anything. What was the use? But the disorientation wears off as he walks further down the alley, he finds that it's just two women chattering nonsensically in the alley. He leans against the alley walls to steady himself and looks back to the woman to see their dressings to be provocative; they were prostitutes. The women were trying to persuade a couple of teenagers near a small shop, constantly wave their hands up, their balance unsteady, and their relentless talking and grabbing making it obvious they are trying too hard.

Chris catches himself observing too closely and looks away but his eyes flicker to find them again. Their open fur coats revealed net stockings under leather skirts, their tops hanging low, their revealing outfits leave little for imagination; and he couldn't help but look down to their breasts and becoming aroused at the thought of some fantasy. Christopher reaches for his wallet, knowing it would have more than enough for a night with one of them, but as he takes the first few steps, his stomach churns and he feels a burning sensation make its way up his throat, spewing some vomit on his shirt.

With head bowed down, Chris runs and pushes his way through the teenagers and women into the shop's restroom where he vomits his guts out, leaving him feeling weak and tired.

He breathes deeply and holds firmly onto the side of the sink and lifts his head to stare into his reflection. His brown hair was uneven and combed back, the strands in front slid limply to form bangs; and his face was now sweaty and devoid of colour, a stark contrast to the bags under his eyes to his usually handsome features.

He gags and spews into the toilet again.

"Christopher... Chris...darling..." A sweet whisper haunts him.

Da Silva doesn't lift his head. He knows Rose is not there. It was impossible.

Sitting down on the dirt covered floor- sweating and trembling with one hand stuck to the porcelain seat- Chris covers his eyes and then looks helplessly up to the flickering light. Tears obscure his vision until he's sure he can see a familiar figure.

"Christopher darling..." An angelic image of Rose descends upon him. Her light, curly hair looking like he could just comb through it, her perfect face beautiful with her bright cerulean eyes always watching him dreamily.

Just the thought of not being able to feel her again is unbearable.

"SHUT UP!" He smashes the sink leaving it with a high pitched ringing, dissipating the image of his wife. He pushes his palms into his ears and muffles the sounds out.

The ground is muddy now, the freezing rain doesn't feel so cold, he thought as he watches his breath. He's been walking outside for quite some time now when suddenly he finds himself laying in bed at his old home, everything seeming to go a mile a minute for him. Probably the alcohol messing with his mind. He has a buzzing migraine, shoes still stuck on his feet and car keys digging into the flesh of his clenched fists. He huddles to one side of the queen sized bed before realizing there was no one to save the space for anymore. Both his family, gone forever from the car crash that he had to live alone with for months.

"God..." Escapes his throat. "Forgive me." Chris cries a prayer to Rose. A surging guilt overtakes him as he is forced to remember the prostitutes. He punishes himself for even recounting the details, feeling as if he had just committed unwanted adultery. Tossing and turning Chris mumbles incoherently until he throws the surrounding bottles randomly; the shatter of glass and sprinkles of shards explodes in the silence of the empty house. Exhausted now, Chris passes out and collapses in bed.

* * *

It's around midnight now and Thomas Gucci hurries, swiping his desk clear and getting dressed. Tonight would be the sixteenth night in a row that he'll return home late. He takes his keys and jacket, and then takes a moment to survey his nicely ordered office, and resting on his desk photographs, one of Thomas hugging Allison as she hugs her own stomach.

He slides into his car and whips out his cellphone to check any messages. A smile spreads across his face when he sees a comforting name.

"Hello, Tom. Maggie here. Just checking up on you. Don't work for too long, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow?" From: Margaret, the nun of the Brahams's Orphanage.

Then the very next message, "A little girl is lost. Find her and bring her back here. SDS." From: -unknown-

This wasn't from his police job. It was from an unknown source which usually gave him orders to prevent unfortunate trespassers from entering Silent Hill. He already tried to trace the calls and messages from them, but nothing. He had a guess that it might be a religious group hiding out in that town. But even strictly listening to their rules and orders he couldn't stop the body count, as evident by this newest order. And as for the little girl, there were no recent reports of any children missing near or in town but for Sharon Da Silva. It couldn't be her, though, for her body was never recovered.

He doesn't respond to this and quickly checks the rest and listens to a predictable string of messages left behind.

"To hell with you, Gucci!" "Hello? Pick up the goddamn phone! Gucci!" "Hello?! I just wanna talk. Hello?"

About 15 messages were left by Christopher Da Silva for Thomas, the sole reason being his role in Chris's family's investigation, whose missing case was as mysterious as the reason. The daughter was sick and the wife kidnapped her to heal her in Silent Hill but now both were gone, and Gucci was undoubtedly the only one to know why. Thomas punches in his home number, grumbling unhappily at the abuse of his cellphone number that he had given so readily.

"Why don't you quit already?" He wonders aloud, then thinks of Allison and the night he was planning to have.

He calls home.

"You're late." His wife says on the other line. "This is the umpteenth time you've done this. Why does this happen whenever you're not working on a case?" Her voice is calm but he could tell she wanted to fight.

She could never understand the amount of work he had to do on most nights, but it was true he was already done with two cases today. When it was unrelated to the cases, Thomas felt like he had much more to do than with his actual job. She could never know about that job.

"I just saved a bunch of lives today, Allison. At least thank me for the lack of dead bodies."

"Yes, now you just have more men to lock up." She pauses, possibly taking a breath and trying to calm down. "I'm sorry, Tom. It isn't about that, I swear. You just seem so bent on preventing deaths that you forget your own wife sometimes."

Neither goes on with the topic, Thomas simply holding the phone limply against his ear with silence on both ends of the line.

"I'll see you soon." Allison hangs up.

Thomas revs up the engine and drives into the heart of Brahams, a lively part of the city with all the theatres, malls, and even an amusement park which he passes. Through the window, he can see families taking walks, sleepy children and couples chatting happily, holding each other and kissing. Why didn't the woman he married do that with him anymore, and why didn't his job of solving cases and save lives satisfy him as it did before? None of this Gucci knew the answers to.

Clinking of the keys hit each other as Thomas struggles with the keyhole of the door, shivering. The apartment building never had decent heating or air conditioning. Down the hall were two men chattering, their door open, pouring out odours and loud music. Eventually he gets in and is relieved for the blast of hot air and comforting hum but trips over a pile of shoes, kicking it out of the way and entering. Thomas reheats his dinner before retiring to bed, careful to minimize the amount of creaking and sneaks under the covers next to . Carefully laying his head down, he gently hugs his wife and kisses her.

"I love you." He whispers.

Allison Gucci slightly stirs but nothing else.

A smell wafts his nose and he immediately sits back up. "Have you been smoking?"

His wife instantly looks awake and faces him with a confused expression.

"What?"

Thomas makes his way around the room, sniffing, before settling near the bedroom door.

"Smoking. Have you been smoking?"

She sits up now. "Now, why would I smoke, Thomas?"

Banging on the walls interrupts them and it was then he realizes his mistake.

Allison gently leads Thomas back to bed where she takes his hands into hers and strokes it with a sincere look.

"After that horrible accident you had years ago I would never do anything like that to you, Thomas. You know that. That's why I quit."

He glances down at their hands together. The black gloves were removed and his burned palms were exposed now, a remembrance of that "accident" from the fire, that unforgettable event that forever changed his life and Silent Hill's.

After calming down, the Guccis slowly drifts asleep with arms wrapped around each other.

"I'm sorry, Allison." Thomas says but receives no answer as she had already fallen into a deep sleep.

Allison Gucci was a faithful wife with long blonde hair and a small, thin figure, doing everything that a wife should do. All but for a few exceptions...

"Allison..." Gucci gropes under her shirt and brings hot kisses to her neck, but receiving only a simple grunt. He nudges her with no response.

He sighs heavily and lays on his back, a voice acting on his perplexity.

"Your wife should meet your every demand. And I mean _every_ demand. A wife's no wife if she ain't willing to make you happy." His father had once told him.

Was Allison his wife? Of course. Two decades of marriage and a ring proved it.

After a few hours, Thomas eventually sleeps into a world memories of every tragedy in the police force. A particular girl haunts him as she pleads with her eyes to be saved; her young body scorched charcoal black, the smell of flesh and smoke in the air. The image and smell haunted his dreams nearly each night. Things were going for the worst when his mind wandered to the Da Silva family, that husband's daughter looked just like that girl...

Thomas vaguely dreams with the smell of cigarettes still swimming thickly in the air.

* * *

Chris shot up out of bed, nearly falling over but settles over a trail of mud, initially startled by the violent thumping on the side of the house. A pair of bare windows show black clouds forming and ice raining. Groaning, he rubs his face and stretches, still listening carefully and glancing around, almost half-expecting to see a tall man standing there. He could have swore that it was feet pounding, just one of the many associations with his recent, very vivid nightmares.

The skies rumble and swirls, leaving Chris to abandon his mess and stumble downstairs. He didn't bother with turning on the lights for the house had no power, water, or gas or anything else left for it. After all, he wasn't living there anymore.

Chris resorts to using his cellphone as a flashlight to leave but first checks his messages. None. He wondered if he had called anyone while on his drunken rampage. He shrugs it off and flashes it down to the floor and walks. A cold breeze prompts him to turn but all he sees is the darkness. A break in the clouds showers the house in the faint sunrise glow. Now he could make out the outlines of the counters and lonely furniture's, no people. Near the sink lays piles of rusted pipes which had been removed a few days ago.

"I should've hired a maid." Chris thought, concerned for the inevitable accumulation of dust and the mess he left upstairs.

It's quiet, and then sudden thumping alerts him as he tenses and listens carefully, and then remembers the hail as he looks out the window. There's no one here, there's no one here. Chris kept assuring himself. No strange figures or noises were going to give him nightmares tonight.

It's so dark his flashlight can barely show the floor, but Christ catches a shadow and faltering footsteps creaking down the steep, rickety staircase leading to the basement. It's nothing, Chris thought, rats or some small rodent managed to break in. But looking down trying to shine some light in there, he recounts his previous experiences in this house; the footsteps, silent phone callers, and even moving figures in the dark are his last memories of living in this house. As much as he wanted to believe it was Rose's spirit, if she had died, that person wasn't her. There was always the feeling of fear, as if someone was watching him, as if with the intent to harm him. Not at all the same kind of feeling with the delusions of his wife.

Bearing his flashlight, he runs down the stairs loudly and panting, thinking that at any moment he'd feel a stab of a knife or gun shot, but there was nothing down here but a worn out couch and a NES. He laughs. It always happened exactly like this in his dreams: he'd see mysterious people and then be chased by them only to wake up to find it to be a nightmare.

He chuckles again, returning back up the steps, when a buzzing scream hits him, causing his hands to slip and bang into the wall. He twists his head so quickly he almost loses his balance. After a moment of adjusting, Chris realizes that the television was blaring and snowing. Rubbing his eyes and flinching from the scream of static and sudden brightness, his focus turns to where the television screen washed over the couch, a man is clearly seen sitting. The dark figure sits there and then he slowly rises to stand motionless, leering at him. In a heartbeat, Chris crawls up the steps with the man sprinting close behind him, he reaches the top, locking the door behind him just as the man cries out and hits it. The man starts to kick the door, attempting to break it open.

"I'm calling the cops!" Chris yells through all the noise but the stranger continues. "Stop it or I'm calling them!" The threats falls to deaf ears as the pounding continues. He fumbles for his phone but it slips through his fingers, then through some kind of weird illusion, the phone seems to blend in with the wood and disappear, and it goes on swallowing Christopher's feet and legs.

Now all around Chris, the floor sinks to an abyss, taking with it all the walls and ceilings to reveal an incredibly dark sky with a choking atmosphere, the floor beneath him trembling and roaring as the building continues to crash until tumbling down into an endless pit, the darkness swallowing up everything and making its way towards Christopher's pitiful island.

He holds onto the basement door, still intact though shaking with the man punching and yelling. Then with an explosion of energy, the door bursts open, nearly flinging Chris off the edge. He turns around to see a looming figure towering over him with a contorted expression of pure rage and hatred, ready to kill him.

Chris sprints across the living room with the stranger close in pursuit. Reaching the end of the world, Chris takes a leap of faith just as the stranger inhumanly stretches and claws at his ankle, nothing below them now as they flew towards nothingness.

With a loud grunt, Chris hits the floor as if it were only a few meters below, rolling off his bruised shoulder to his back and groaning, feeling his vibrating head on the ground, hard and cold like stone.

After a few moments, waiting for his shoulder to stop spasming from the pain and catch his breath, he pries open his eyes to find himself in a large room, but with no sign of the walls or ceiling but with a single word seared under him, "HELL".

Emerging from the surrounding shadows are several men, tall with their faces hidden. With a frustrated cry, Chris rests his head in his arms, and then chuckling. Here they are now. The strangers, who called him, followed him home from work, intruded his home, and now trapped him here to kill him. Being stalked isn't romantic, Chris thought amusingly, its hell.

With that in mind, Chris shuts his eyes to the sensation of floating. He was now in his bed, in the real world. And quickly getting up, he ran into the hallway and bedrooms to see that nothing had been damaged. Drowsy and disoriented, he didn't know what to expect as he leans on Sharon's bedroom door, looking at the sheet covered room with only a dead baby monitor in sight.


	3. Chapter 2

Chris falls back into Sharon's bed with a loud creak as the bed moved, escaping a prolonged sigh, enjoying the comforting pink sheets and hugging the frilly pillows. It was much softer and cleaner than his own bed. Then, when he thought he'd fall asleep again, he hears something downstairs. A musical tune drifting. Was it from outside? No. He listens intently and recognizes it as Sharon's musical box. He shines his cellphone to the side to see that Sharon's music box isn't where it usually is, and so bearing the steel pipe and mustering courage, he tiptoes down the staircase. The coarseness of the red carpet helps with silencing his footsteps and creaks, he comes into the arch of the living room only to see a flickering lamp with the lone box clumsily clicking Sharon's favourite tune. The lid is open, the porcelain ballerina twirling with a silver mirror to admire herself, but no jewelry occupies the empty cavity. He sighs. Chris picks up the box, shutting down the lid, then is disturbed to still hear the melody accompanied with mysterious giggles. He looks behind the ghostly couches and sheet covered furnitures. He returns back to the living room to find a little girl sitting still in the middle of the room in the ring of the flickering lamp. Her back is towards him; she doesn't move or make a sound.

"Hello?" She suddenly turns, startling Chris as he readies to swing the pipe.

His arm feels heavy and hesitantly lowers it, breathing heavily and looking wide-eyed at Sharon. Her hair is tangled, her clothes shredded. What was happening here?

Chris can't utter a sound, his throat frozen as his knees buckle and he falls to the hard plywood floor. Sharon simply sits, holding a red-headed doll, staring as if at a stranger. Then she grins widely and stands up, revealing rustic stains and dirt while in the air floats a haunting melody, the two figures near the archway of the living room are barely visible through the flickering lampshade.

"Daddy!" She suddenly bursts into tears and sobs uncontrollably, gasping for air and clinging to her father. "Mommy is gone! I don't know where she went."

At that, Chris grabs for his weapon and whips his head around the room, ready to fend off any strangers set on killing him and her. Either Sharon escaped them or they were here with her, and with them is Rose... But searching the entire house and driveway, there is no one here but the two of them.

"How did you get back? Where's Rose?" Chris holds her shoulders and looks sternly at her.

Sharon almost chokes, her face looking as if just the mere thought of it was enough to bring her soul down.

"Was it people? Were you two kidnapped? Talk Sharon!"

She doesn't say a word but nods her head weakly to confirm his worst fears.

"You were kidnapped and you escaped from them?" He repeats to be sure, trembling, to which his daughter replies with another weary nod and grabbing his waist, sobbing loudly as she hugs him.

Chris breathes deeply, hinting a scent of Rose on Sharon, then manages to force open his eyes only to see something else on the floor next to the Scarlet doll...

"What's this?" Chris questions loudly, pushing his daughter away to see clearer the shaggy object.

He gags, the smell resembling garbage and sewage, then horrifically, the object turns out to be a starved kitten. It's body bearing only patches of fur, showing how broken and mangled it was, and the gut wrenching smell wafts intensely into his nose to signify just how long it has been there.

Was that poor creature in here this whole time?

Chris looks at Sharon to see her face turn to fear. "It wasn't me." She states rather quickly.

His eyes grow wide to show his concern. "I know it wasn't you, Sharon." He glances back down at the baby kitten. "I'm just glad you're back." He says somewhat reluctantly.  
She sobs. "I don't know what happened. Why did it have to happen? If only she didn't do it, Mommy would still be here..."

"What do you mean? You have to tell me, Sharon, where is your mother? Is she okay?"

Again, she doesn't answer verbally and instead shakes her head violently and crying out loud, "They got her!"

Then quickly, her small figure blurs as she runs away and up the stairs to her old room, leaving Chris frustrated. Looking around and dialing her cellphone number, Chris expects to see Rose show up any moment, but searching the entire town for signs of her the next day and the next, he knew that the circumstances were only for his daughter and not his wife. And now he was left with what little Sharon had revealed: there had to be someone stalking him, he felt it for months, and now he knew both his families were alive and there were indeed kidnappers. Ever since the accident, he's been getting the feeling of being watched, getting nightmares from it and now he didn't know if it was real or not. If only everything was just one big nightmare...

* * *

It's the usual morning in the city suburbs of Brahams: pink heat of the sun spilling over the horizon of towers and buildings; and foul smelling smog filled air.

Last night's spaghetti and meatballs are Thomas Gucci's breakfast. He knew Allison's least favourite day was mornings, and so everyday he had to make his own breakfast or take last night's dinner. Just as he stabs the last dry meatball, his wife walks in, grabbing a bowl from the tray and saying a prayer. He watches her briefly before coughing and standing up. He had a whole day waiting for him to figure out the pieces of the puzzles, to finish businesses, and keep the peace and order in the world. He didn't have time for any unnecessary silly things.

"You know I read somewhere that husbands who kiss their wives before leaving to work live longer lives." Allison twirls her fork to catch the stringy spaghetti, her long hair unruly, with a magazine in hand.

"I also read that having sex with your husband is beneficial for your health." Thomas takes his coat and slips his arms through the sleeves, both of them catching their withheld laughter.

Over the years, they had developed their own kind of humor that they could only do with each other, always with a comeback that makes them giggle like kids. No, it wasn't funny because it was simply a joke; it was mostly because whatever they said held some truth.

After giving a quick peck on her forehead Thomas leaves for work but before closing the door, Allison suddenly remembers, "Your friends called. I invited them over for dinner, is that okay?"

"Uh, my... friends? Sure." His friends? The only people Thomas could think of even remotely as friends was the other officers he occasionally played poker with. Shrugging it off, he guess it was for the best even if he didn't like the thought of showing anybody his crummy apartment, not to mention she didn't ask him in the first place.

"Morning, Amanda." Gucci waves a passing officer, whose physique and youthful complexion was enough to tell she was just another charming rookie. Her jet black hair compliments her shiny blue eyes, but her entire appearance of clean crisp clothes and young age made her stick out like a sore thumb, in contrast with the other officers present,

"Mornin' to you, too, Mr. Gucci." She confidently smiles and waves before being scooted off to finish her duties.

Thomas Gucci proceeds directly to his office and goes on to finish some paper work on another current case going on in Silent Hill. Just then Amanda walks in, combing back her dark hair nervously.

"Whatcha doin' there?" She asks, twirling her hat.

"Just doing some paperwork."

"Which case? That Silent Hill town with the mother and daughter?" Amanda obviously trying to ease into something more.

"Yes, it's that town," Gucci answers. "But this is a different case. About some criminal drug dealers. Did you want to talk about something?"

She hastily sits herself down. "Well, , I've known you the longest here and I was just wonderin' if you could help me with some problems I've been havin'." She looks hopefully up to officer.

"Like what?" Gucci now switches his attention to the young officer.

"You see, there's this person I really like..."

"Oh." Gucci rolls his eyes annoyingly, mistaking this as a serious conversation.

"No, it's important to me. Listen. I hooked up with the guy, see, but something's been odd with him. No kissing, hugging, and even no sex!"

"Uhh..." He clears his throat and shuffles his papers. He has to think for a moment for this. "This sounds very simple. Break up. If you can't even handle a week without their affection, how are you going to last months?" He says, chuckling. "Believe me, I know."

"I was thinking here it was some communications issue or somethin' like that... do you think it might be because I've been spending my money on my new car? If they love me, they'll let me do what I want with _my_ paycheck. I think I deserve it, don't you, ?"

"That is very selfish, Amanda." Gucci puts down his files. "Spending a little money on the one you love shouldn't matter. You marry whomever it is you're in love with, have children, make them the money-maker -no offense- but the men should have the jobs. Back then, the woman stayed home and did the house work."

"Did that help you with your problems?" Amanda asks innocently.  
Gucci gives a thoughtful look and reflects on the years of his marriage: there wasn't any satisfaction with the food he ate at home; he didn't even notice the work done in that crap of a home; and not to mention those cold hugs and kisses which just didn't mean anything anymore; and most of all that nagging feeling that he couldn't identify or shake off whenever he thought of Allison alone.

How misguided he must have been. He answers, "No, no it didn't."

During lunch break, Gucci is in the kitchen when he overhears the other officers talking in the foyer.

"That is so fucked up."

"Yep, and guess whose case it was: Thomas Gucci!"

"I overheard the wife and her friends gossiping about how that Da Silva guy gutted his wife and damn kid and stuffed them in a bag where he dumped it into the river. I know that's bull, but who knows. Maybe that psycho really did murder his family."

"Exactly. No evidence, next to no witnesses, and what's up with his foggy stories? If you ask me, everything was too clean, just the whole mysterious disappearance excuse was completely out of place. Just where exactly are the bodies and the motive? A sick kid kidnapped by the mother where they conveniently go missing?"

"I know people go missing at Silent Hill and do stupid stuff and kill themselves, but really? He even read up on the town. There's nobody in there but some stubborn residents and rumors. He might've not killed them, but right now, months later with the Great Gucci not finding a thing, it seems just a mighty bit suspicious."

"True. It's just plain suspicious. That could be all for all we know."

Gucci feels like his blood pressure raised a few over the norm. He ignores them but has the feeling that he's doing something wrong. He was just doing his job as an investigator and found nothing, but that shouldn't affect an innocent man with rumors.

"None of my business." He thought aloud, though he couldn't refuse the fact that his involvement with the secrets of Silent Hill may have caused the ruined reputation and personal life of that father.

Gucci leaves to the filing room and takes out the Da Silva case and clearing the dust off, he examines the pictures. He hadn't looked at these for weeks but for some reason only now he felt something creeping up on his insides, but couldn't make a lick of sense out of it. It made as much sense as knowing what was wrong with his marriage.

A few copies of the family and the mysterious scene of Rose's empty car outside of Silent Hill, and there is even an old photograph of when the husband was just a kid, in the blurry picture a brightly blonde haired, sparkling green eyed Chris, hugging a pink bunny. A particular photo catches his eyes and he raises it closer: Christopher Da Silva hugging his daughter, Sharon. Christopher had a big smile on his face, his now brown hair blowing in the wind and his gaze fixed on the camera, as if he were looking right at Gucci. He becomes nervous and looks away. Why did he react that way? The only thing Gucci understood was that Da Silva did not kill his family and the entire fault lays with the town, Silent Hill, and its secrets of cults and- as he suspected as he looks at Sharon- Alessa Gillepsie's involvement with the case. The last time he saw that girl, she was burned and later announced as having died at Brookhaven Hospital during a visit. He just had a feeling she might still be living.

* * *

Chris massages hairdye into Sharon's long black hair, where she simply sits and stares at her father, as if trying to remember his face. He had just left Sharon all alone in the house for the first time ever and just returned from the store. Ever since she came back she barely ever said a word and acted in a way that wasn't like his old Sharon. He didn't know what he expected from Sharon after her traumatic experience, but sitting silently everyday not saying a word, showed just how the kidnapping paralyzed his daughter. They had been living together for weeks and only now had he realized the dangers of keeping her with him, both the law and criminals, and after some proper planning he created an elaborate story and bought a bottle of hairdye. He was sure the kidnappers may have known their old address but they were safe in a new town. He attempts to engage in a conversation with her.

"Do you like this colour, Sharon? It was the cheapest one because I didn't want to waste much money. I'm just on a short break but I'll get back to work soon."

She glares at him. "Is it brown?"

"No, the hair colour you're going to have is red. That's Rose's favourite colour."

She slumps further down the chair and looks down.

"Your new mommy can be 50 if you want." Chris tries to cheer her up unsuccessfully.

He can't save Rose if every time he brought her up Sharon clamped up. He just either had to wait for her to tell him or he waited until the he was sure he'd get that phone call, that is if the kidnappers were stupid enough to let Rose have it on her. But his wife was smart, she would figure something out even without a working phone, like in that one movie with the wife making desperate calls for help on a shattered phone, and in the beginning she does succeed and makes it out alive in the end.

Still massaging her hair with a new colour and along with a new identity, Sharon switched schools and made plans for no meeting with anyone related to the family or case including their friends and the police officers. That was just as good. Chris didn't talk with his family or friends anymore.

"Why can't we just move?" She asks with no consideration or thought.

Chris is momentarily shocked and pauses his progress. His thoughts went immediately to their old home in the nearby town, waiting for the entire family to return. _Entire_ family. Chris didn't answer. Instead he looks to his side through the door left ajared to the living room, sitting there on the box/coffee table is his laptop and a container next to it. In his head he answers, "For Rose."

It's a cold night, no moon. It's past 3:00 in the morning and his daughter had just fell asleep, and now it was his turn to have trouble. After a week, Sharon had officially moved in after being enrolled at a new school and for tonight while he set up her new room in his closet, Sharon would be sleeping in bed next to him.

"Your daughter is beautiful. May I ask where is the mother?" Christopher remembers Sharon's new teacher when they met for the third time at the school.

"She's in a job that requires her to travel a lot. So it's just me." He answered.

He saw her eyes twinkle, giving him an odd expression before she handed him the papers. He remembers the woman as a beautiful brunette, attractive, but he just wasn't in the mood to admire her.

"Well, thank you for coming. I'll see your girl on Monday, then."

The wind howls, the house rattling with light patter of rain, the father paying attention to hear anything out of the ordinary. There's a small creaking sound, a clang in the kitchen, and opening his eyes and looking out the door, he catches a shadow going across the living room. He jumps, startled, and almost falls out of bed.

"What is it?" Sharon turns and rubs her eyes.

There's another series of creaks, and taking initiative, he gets out and turns on all the lights to find nothing misplaced or sign of any forced entry. Sharon remains in bed, watching her father through the door as he searches until looking through the window. Standing outside is a man, upright and looking straight back at him. And behind him, the creaking comes back, sounding like rushing footsteps.

"Dad?" Sharon calls out again, seeing him pale and shaking.

She tugs open the curtain to find the streets completely empty.

Chris runs back into bed, pulling the covers securely over him and shuts his eyes. After awhile he feels the gentle touch of his daughter, Sharon, wrapping her arms around him. He hugs her back.

"What's the matter?" Sharon whispers.

"Remember when you and your mother left...for vacation? I've been getting little nightmares and thinking people are watching me." He tries to control the trembling in his voice, unable to shake off the feeling that maybe it might be the kidnappers. "It's okay, though. They're not real."

They hold each other, warm and comfy under the thick blankets, and before long the both of them are snoring. Tonight was going to be the last night Sharon would sleep next to him, and tomorrow her own bed would be ready to be used from now on. It was too bad, Chris thought as he half slept, finally able to relax after all this time, because he would miss cradling Sharon like a baby with neither of them being embarrassed about it.

* * *

Early in the morning, Chris's alarm clock buzzes from behind the closed closet door, light filtering through the thin bedroom curtains and streaming into Sharon's closet, plastered with drawings and photographs. She lays wide eyed on her bed, which she comfortably stretches in the moderately sized space, big enough for a small mattress and a shelf to hold all her personal possessions. Her father even wallpapered it pink with white floral designs.

The alarm clock buzzes again to which Chris reacts by slamming the thing. Groaning loudly, and then before long, jumping out of bed to the sound of sizzling and chopping.

Peeking through the opening, the clock confirms the time as 5:45 AM. Sharon gently sits herself down in her new pajamas, a new hair style, a completely different world, but nothing inside of her has changed. The chopping becomes more prominent, faster, Chris turning on the news of bombings and shootings, people screaming. Suddenly scared, she presses her palms against her ears, her head throbbing, and rumblings to which she could feel the earth give away, an earthquake.

"Sharon?!" She could hear her father call out for her, all the dishes crashing and Chris tumbling and unable to reach his daughter.

"Mom!" Her cry is barely audible against all the shaking and the house tearing apart. "Mommy!" She sobs and pushes against the wall to see her world fall apart.

Sharon is still laying down, sweat pouring down her face and gasping for breath, the noises become everyday normal sounds with Christopher cooking breakfast and the news blaring. It's like nothing happened.

"Sharon, come on. I promise I won't ask about Rose today. Come and eat your breakfast." Chris kneels across from the closet, softly coaxing her out.

Sharon lifts her heavy body up, studying her decorated wall now splattered with blood, and opening the door wide she sees the clock, 6:33 AM. It was such a terrible secret, it caused her so much grief and guilt everyday and just made worse by her father who tried so hard to find the mother. How could she ever tell him the truth? The kidnappers were getting close and there wasn't any way she could help. Chris focuses on his daughter, unaware of the bloody closet, and holding out his hands and smiling, so pitiful looking.

"School won't be that scary, Sharon. Be happy we're both alive and well at least." He says as he closes the door and leads his daughter to the kitchen.

* * *

Sharon's new school wasn't far, but Christopher frequently looked back to the direction of their street, stuffing her backpack with money, bus tickets and lists of phone numbers just in case.

"Maybe you're not ready." Chris bites his lips, knowing full well that the neighbours would start getting suspicious if they knew of a little girl who never went out. He couldn't keep her close and safe forever, and the thought of it made him feel helpless. A feeling he became familiar with all these months before, during the investigation.

"I'll be okay, dad." Sharon adjusts her backpack and looks up at him, the sky a pale blue with her dad looking sad. And then sucking in her breath she recites, "I won't talk to strangers, I'll come home straight after school, and I'll look both sides of the street before crossing." She almost smiles at herself for remembering.

Chris bends down and holds both her shoulders, looking serious and taking away her moment of joy.

"Remember, my girl, NEVER talk to strangers." Flashes of that day, when Sharon found her way home, reflects in their eyes somehow communicating with each other the importance of keeping safe from possible kidnappers.

"Yes." She replies immediately, stiff and serious. Her total obedience almost overwhelms Chris.

He stands back up just as the bus rolls to a stop, the two hug briefly. She gets in. She doesn't talk to a soul, doesn't even look at the other students or teachers for fear of breaking her many rules, all to ensure her father's will, so he will be somewhat happy to know she did her best.

In her classroom, Sharon's new teacher recognizes Christopher's daughter. She approaches her with a calm attitude and reaches out her hands to which Sharon avoids.

"Welcome to John Polly Dori School. I'm your new teacher."

Sharon stares at her and only one thing came across her mind: even school teachers can be dangerous kidnappers.

* * *

Long after the bus left, Christopher remains standing and looking regretfully at the bus, half expecting his daughter to come back, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck in an embrace and never let go. Lately, he's been improving with how he treated his daughter, even worrying about her, which is good. What kind of father would he be if he didn't? He fumbles for a cigarette and lights it and walks down the street. But he couldn't help but feel...unsure of himself. Sharon was his daughter but why is it that she's been acting completely different? Depression, shock, trauma? Were the kidnappers a cult that brainwashed her? But the one that stood out to Christopher the most was one that repeated in his mind over and over: that little girl wasn't Sharon. She was not the same girl that he adopted all those years ago. She was...someone different.

With all his troubled thoughts, Chris almost didn't notice the empty street with a fine powder of snow covering the ground, trailing soft footprints. With all the lack of cars whizzing by and no other people, it's so quiet, Chris could hear someone else behind him, and taking a glance he sees a man wearing a black coat and hat. At that moment, the stranger stops and pretends to admire some window displays. He walks a few blocks with barely another person around and so checks his phone to distract himself. The sudden ringing startles him, and looking at the caller ID screen hopefully, he's actually surprised to see that it's not Rose, not Sharon, but it's Officer Gucci's number. It stops and he checks the voice-mail.

"Hello, Christopher. It's me, Gucci. Just calling in to say that I promise I'll get more on the case. You just have to be patient. Oh, and thanks for the break." He doesn't even say "bye" and just ends it there.

Looking back at the stranger following closely, he wonders if he should call Gucci just in case. No, he reasoned with himself, I'm just being paranoid, that's all. To be safe, though, Chris turns back and walks past many blocks, passing the man, and looking down he sees that the entire way, the footprints had been following him since before the bus stop. Could it be?

His phone rings and he answers with a quivering voice, "Yes?" Silence. No one speaks. "Hello?"

There's some static and looking back he sees the stranger holding a phone to his ear and shaking a finger at him. "Don't be calling the police now, Da Silva. That certainly didn't help your wife and daughter."

This has to be a joke, he thought. "Are you some fan that came across my works?"

"Disappointed with having only your daughter? Don't worry, you're not crazy. You are being followed and we did kidnap your family." He hangs up.

He was being stalked...has been for months...and it was the kidnappers...

Gripping his cellphone and glancing back to find the man gone, Chris knew that he would never answer this phone again, not unless it rang the tone of his wife's, but it was forever bound to stay silent on his shelf at home. There was nothing he could do: call the cops they find out about Sharon, do that and he'll likely be charged with murder of his wife and kidnapping his daughter. His shivering hands clumsily took out another cigarette, cursing that all he could do now was either wait out Sharon's silence to finally confess everything or to hope for Rose's call, then he can for certain leave this god-awful place. Just a confirmation, a clue, any excuse now to leave Brahams for good, because both he and his daughter's lives are now in danger.


	4. Chapter 3

Tonight, the Gucci's dinner was accompanied by three of Thomas's colleagues from the station where they speak about all the fun they always seem to enjoy, though none that Thomas recalled, as Allison prepares their meals and sets the wine glasses. All four of them shut their eyes in prayer before resuming their conversation.

"...And that's why I took the job. You, Inspectin' Tom? Did you even listen to my story?" One of the friends points her fork accusingly. "Now tell us why you joined."

Thomas looks up sleepily, then picking at his food he slowly begins the tale, thinking carefully about it.

"Why I joined the force? I was just a college student, starting out as a rookie, like you," The other two men sniggers only to receive a cold glare from him. So hard to believe it had been that long ago, so young and carefree. What the hell was he thinking, joining? "I would have likely quit, sail around the world, or something like that. But one day, in came a call, a kidnapping in a hotel. It was a little girl." Her mother had called the police on her sister who kidnapped her kid, then attempted murder by roasting her over burning coal. Oh god, the smell, the sound of crackling flesh...she was already dead. "We found them, made some arrests, the little girl was taken to the nearest hospital, Brookhaven."

"Did she make it?"

Thomas stops picking at his food. Did Alessa live on? "No." A cold, wet feeling clamps around him, a shiver then sigh as he thinks of Alessa still living on with a normal life, perhaps, though all of that would be a lie. Of course. A lie. To himself. "She died that very day. We even had a funeral for her." Her very own mother didn't even attend the service. What a monster.

He looks over to his wife who returns his glance and nods. "Ever since then I thought I could help the world become a better place." Though that doesn't stop all kinds of shit happening everyday...

His friends give each other uneasy glances. "...Is, is that all?"

Why couldn't Gillespie leave him in peace, cease her stare burning a hole through his heart and killing him each and every night? He could still smell it, the burnt flesh; the smoke stinging his eyes. And people wondered why Allison did the cooking every night.

"Yes, that's all."

After a few minutes of silence and awkward compliments, one of the men starts up with that new joke.

"Say, you still getting stalked by that guy?" His friend asks.

"What?" Thomas knew exactly what he meant but plays it safe.

"That guy whose case you were working on. That husband?"

"Chris Da Silva." His wife answers, looking almost proud of herself. "Tom's been bringing it up lately."

"Yeah, don't you remember his name, you idiot? That lonely guy that won't let Tommy here alone?"

"Oh, yeah. Some of the other guys are always talking about him."

The three laugh while Thomas shifts uncomfortably and attempts to change the subject, downing his glass of champagne.

"Great dinner, darling. Don't you guys love her cooking?"

"Of course. Now answer the question." His friends urge him, realizing how much fun they were suddenly having.

Now that Thomas thinks about it, his messages were completely empty, and he hadn't heard any news of that man. Did he move out of town? He wasn't sure, and he had an intense feeling overtake him. Thomas Gucci suddenly felt abandoned.

"What kind of calls did that guy leave?" They ask.

"I have to check something." Thomas excuses himself and runs into the unlit hallway.

The light from the dining room spills into the hall, creating sharp shadows, behind him laughter erupts.

Picking up the phone receiver, Thomas punches in Da Silva's home phone number but hears only a dead tone. He clutches it and has the sudden urge to sprint outside and race to Christopher's home. All he could think of was knocking on his door, envisioning Chris's face warmly welcoming him.

Laughter resumes from the dinner table with Allison politely asking questions in between giggles. Still holding onto the receiver, Thomas rests against the counter, becoming aware of the open hall and rubs his eyes.

Even he knew that anybody walking in would still be able to see his burning face. With the dial tone of the phone beeping away and his hands now sweaty, Thomas sighs heavily as he thought of this infatuation for that doctor.

* * *

In the university building, many students and staff acknowledge Da Silva as he races down the halls, anxious to leave and get back home.

"Hello, Mr. Da Silva." A student smiles and waves at him, receiving only a grunt and half-effort glance. "Can't wait for that vacation soon?"

"Uh-yeah, sure." He walks on, gets into his car, then runs two red lights to make it in time for dinner. Seeing through the windshield his house comes into view, so small looking sitting in a sombre background, silent as if waiting for him. He takes a deep breath then opens the door.

"Never late are you, Professor?" The young babysitter exclaims as he gathers his belongings and collects his payment. "She's sleeping on the couch over there. Dinner's in the oven." He gestures.

This young man, looking barely over twenty, was an extremely rare find from a decent babysitting company, one who doesn't keep up with the news on paper or television. Just what he wanted. A man completely oblivious to the world around him.

The two soon part ways. It's suddenly very quiet and dark, the dimly lit hallways illuminates the living room where Chris spots Sharon, breathing slowly and deeply, her small figure outlined by some second light source. The father walks to the entrance and finds his laptop pried open near her, escaping a frustrated sigh and shutting it.

The father was already on the brink of insanity, allowing Sharon to attend school and now leaving her alone, and to top it all off, she was displaying signs of clinical depression. She squirms slightly, experiencing a nightmare. Chris nudges her. "Sharon."

She stays still. Looking down at her, she almost looks like an entirely different person, with her short red hair, pale skin, and with eyes that has secrets buried inside with a heart he did not understand. Having only Sharon around did make him feel closer to her but he could not shake the feeling this child was not his daughter. Then, slowly, he wraps his fingers around her small neck, and sits there contemplating whether to end it all and suffocate her. He had sleeping pills in his cabinet if he goes through with it...

Prying open her eyes, Sharon studies her father before going on to look curiously around as she lifted herself up, Chris having quickly removed his hands.

"Dad, you have nightmares too, right?" Chris just nods exhaustedly. "You dream about the bad guys, but I dream about the victims. Are they safe?"

Was she talking about him or Rose? He couldn't fully understand what he was just about to do to a child, to his family, and wanting to do anything to distract himself, he says, "Get dressed. I just got my check so we could go wherever you want tonight."

Sharon jumps out of bed and runs into his room, opening the closet and rummaging through it.

Chris is about to shut off the computer when he recognizes what's on screen.

"In all the years that cults has been rumoured to reside in the town founded by John.P, I haven't seen a single robe-wearing, devil worshipping man roam the streets in all my life. But even then, picturing the innocent victim captured by them, I took the streetcar, and reaching my house, I found it only to be blocked off by that annoying officer. Polly Dori Town, with its usual thick fog, engulfs the officer making him look to be a large silhouette, standing on my doorstep no doubt giving an uneasy feeling."

With all his efforts Christopher had gathered with his limited visit to Silent Hill and study of cults, complete with personal experience and actual documents to give a legitimate feel, it never seemed to be enough. Officer Gucci already restricted his visits to that town after finding out about him sneaking in and interviewing the few residents, and he was sure Gucci suspected gathered evidence for his own investigation, and to ensure the safety of it, he went ahead and started a hobby as a part-time writer beginning with a mystery novel which he did not know the ending as of yet.

It wasn't particularly a story which a nine year old would be interested in. So why was she reading it every night? While Sharon dressed up in his room, Chris went into the bathroom, checking his face and only now noticing the differences since Sharon returned. His skin held a healthy glow, his brown hair silky and neat, and now whenever he looked at the mirror, all he saw was a man with a responsibility and goal, not a drunk lost and alone anymore. Things had improved. It had to.

The two had put on nice clean clothes, wearing warm coats, and now ready for a night out of town.

"Ready?"

"Yes." Sharon answers with a forced smile.

And with that they both left and drove into the cold glow of the lively Brahams.

In a small bookstore, Christopher and Sharon browse the sections with no particular interest. Chris eventually, and inevitably, ends up in the paranormal section, pouring over novels of afterlife's and religious cults with his daughter closely by his side.

"One cult is known to have lived in or near Silent Hill, residing there for decades, though certain sources suggest since before the town was created-" Quotes Chris, looking intently and wondering if this was true.

Having heavily studied the subject and forming his own opinion, Chris decides none of it was even remotely true. He pulls out and reads one about the history of deaths and afterlife's. Sharon parts, lifting a tiny book identical to the one he's holding, and flips through the pages. He notices her boredom. Chris knew that he was practically dragging her to one of his obsessive shopping sprees. I promise, he thought, I'd quit all this once I find Rose. With all his shelves of books, boxes of evidence, and keeping up with the investigation lead by Gucci, Chris almost couldn't fit Sharon into the picture. Sharon stares deeply into her father's eyes, a flicker of what had happened after the accident somewhere in there.

"'Death is a shadow you can't escape. Everybody will inevitably die, no matter what lengths one will go through to prevent it.' And then something about chemistry, with an 'al' at the beginning." Sharon reads from the book.

"That's 'Alchemist', sweetie. You know, scientists trying to make gold and find immortality..." Chris corrects her, both evidently reading from the same passage.

"I know." Sharon replies and drifts away, walking further and further away until she's disappeared into some other part of the store.

Chris weighs his hefty book, comparing it with the much thinner one Sharon had held. He pulls it out and flips through it, but the pages are completely blank. Puzzled, Chris looks at the cover to discover it's actually a journal. Just a weird coincidence, he thought, pushing away the strange feeling and wandering on.

After some time and purchasing their items, Chris and Sharon continues to the theatre where he ponders about which movie to pay for: one was an action, testosterone-filled movie, and the other two were children's films with anthropomorphic characters with common titles. Chris sighs. Which one to see?

After some consideration with the film nearly starting, Chris and Sharon rush to buy their snacks and then find seats. They find a comfortable spot in the middle near the wall. On screen, a voice booms and gigantic letters flashes: the movie is beginning.

But Chris is too distracted to pay any attention as he visualizes the lone cellphone on his shelf, gathering dust and ringing. His unused cordless phone also came to mind. Anybody could be calling right now: family, friends, Rose, maybe even that investigator, Thomas Gucci. He was pretty sure that Gucci never updated with Chris's new home phone number after he moved, though.

A loud bang and explosion startles Chris as on screen two men begin battling it out in a life or death situation. Crude and curse words are thrown everywhere, while in the background, large breasted women cheer for the hero wearing suggestive clothing.

Chris scrunches up his nose and sighs in disbelief at this film, supposedly directed at his daughter's age group. This just couldn't really be for children.

But Sharon looks blankly at wherever her wandering eye lands on, clearly disinterested in the movie or her snacks. Was she thinking about her mother?

All Chris could think of at this point was what a failure he was. He looks back to the film, forcing himself to watch it, and swallows it in until the ending.

* * *

Over at the Brahams docks, the shimmering cold waters and a luminous moon create an unsettling atmosphere as a dark figure hulls something out and drags it back to his truck. Inspector Gucci wipes his hands and pats his soaked jeans, closing the trunk to the wrapped body he had just fished out from the river, connecting with Toluca Lake in Silent Hill. The factory just up ahead the river is visible from the moonlight. Something sparkling on his chest, an unusual locket dangling. Then a piercing ring resonates throughout and he answers his phone.

"Have you recovered the body yet? Remember, nobody must see you or your useless to us." A woman's voice.

"Yes, I did it. I'm just bringing her to the usual place. Amazing how far a body can travel down river."

"Yes. I understand the hard work that is required of you, but be patient. As long as you continue doing your part, no one will be hurt." A click and silence.

As he jumps into his car and listens to the news, Thomas has a tingling sensation, filled with disgust of himself and not even wanting to think of the poor woman in the back. It was her own fault, he told himself, there are warnings posted all around Silent Hill and now she was dead because of it. Chris would always stay at the entrance to that town back in the good old days, just enough so that he wasn't a threat, but every year there are dozens of trespassers, most of whom aren't so lucky to make it out alive. He couldn't just stand by to save every one of them 24/7. Thomas had a life with his real job and family.

With that in mind, he thinks, "Another accident like that of Alessa Gillespie will never happen again in these towns ever again. Not while I'm still alive." And he promised that, even to a God he didn't believe in.

The conflicted detective turns up the heat, pulling the collar of his jacket higher as he made his way to Silent Hill to dispose of the body where it would be taken, disappearing without a trace. And after carefully laying it on a hill, he takes the long trip back ready to forge documents concerning the woman and personally testify himself: he was in town doing a routine check-up when he saw the woman drowning in the black lake and her body presumably sinking to the bottom. About half of that was true.

* * *

In a dim room, the only light streams faintly into Sister Margaret's bedroom from out in the hallway, the nun bends low over a desk, writing.

_"Dear, Thomas_

_I am not much of the type to keep up with technology and prefer writing than leaving phone calls you never seem to answer. It's been too long since we last met._

_But that is not the reason why I am contacting you. Evil forces are at work here. They are coming to claim my life but I shall persevere with my faith and trust in God. Such an evil being, like the devil, are here right now, and have been for weeks. I've been followed, stalked, and have been getting nightmares from it all._

_I do not know what to do but pray. I do not know if this is all real but right now I feel as if my life is in danger._

_Please be comforted to know that this will not be the last letter you will receive of me. I will pull through this ordeal._

_Your friend, Margaret"_

A gentle tapping interrupts the elderly nun in deep thought as she read, then calling out, "Come in."

A young woman pokes her head through into the dreary room. "Sorry to intrude, but I'm new here. Should I clean this room too?" The new janitor that was just recently hired.

Margaret smiles sincerely at her. "No, it's fine."

Now she is left alone once again to be engulfed in her quiet room, listening to the howl of the wind and the buzz of the hallway light bulbs. Walking up to her window and drawing open the blinds, casting bars on her face, Sister Margaret peers down to see a single figure not even attempting to hide, leaning on a building across the street, watching her room. Then out of the shadows comes forward several other figures, one of whom looks like a blonde haired woman wearing a light spring jacket over a long purple dress. Unbeknownst to her, in the corner of the room, her letter is silently being eaten by flames, the room gradually overheating as a low guttural sound emanates and swallows the last bit of light.

* * *

Back in Christopher's apartment, a dusty cellphone rings in the emptiness for no one to hear. On the other end of the line, a blonde haired woman waits patiently before hanging up. It wasn't her usual way, to do things herself, but when it comes to something as important as speaking to a very important figure, the father of Sharon, she must do it herself.

She closes the phone carefully, holding it out gently for a man to receive, She brushes her oily hair away from her face as she walks to the front of a large building, observing one window in particular. It's the dead of night, not a car in sight, and so she waited out in the open wearing only a thin jacket over a darkly coloured purple dress. The small group waited for something from inside the building when the cellphone rings.

The man simply puts it to his ear and listens, nodding and grunting every now and then. He finishes.

"The officer did as you told him." His voice gruff and coarse.

The young woman laughs, clutching her jacket with a puff of mist coming forth from her mouth. "Of course, of course he did, I know he can be trusted. He'll do as we order him to."

During that moment, two men confront the woman bearing grim faces, holding a crucifix in view. Her face turns to disappointment, something did not go right.

"The old woman, from which you perceived in your visions, she is dead. She was attempting to contact the officer concerning...our problem, and worshipped false gods no less. It is not much of a loss."

"The officer will have to fix the mess. Make sure to give out the orders. Now onto our next trail of unfortunate victims. I have seen a lady, one who works as a teacher. She is next."

* * *

Before Chris's movie ends, Thomas decides to drive to the theatre while passing it on his way home. He needed time to think. He heads for the counter to watch that new film of car chasing and karate style fighting, and as he waits in line the music credits of the films can be heard with crowds of people spilling out. Taking out his credit card, he continues to listen to it, imagining taking a daughter to see it and leaving smiley and heartily.

"Wow...what did you think of that, Sharon hon?" Chris asks.

"It was okay..." Sharon mumbles, reading one book with grotesque imagery and lagging behind her father.

Chris feels a ton weighing on in his insides but reasoned she was just recovering from some sort of shock, though he will never know if Sharon will always keep emotionally clamped like this.

Grasping her small shoulders, Chris feels it subtly trembling. He opens his mouth as if to say something but a flash distracts him, and blocking his eyes he spots Officer Gucci in a line ahead.

Just as Gucci ceased his fantasy of a real family, the worker calls him.

"Mister?" A woman impatiently stares at him.  
"Oh, sorry." Thomas hands over his credit card and gives the theatre a sweep as he waits.

Chris gasps as he sees Thomas looking over in their direction but is too late to hide as both their gazes lock.

The theatre building nearly empties, a new wave of adults and children on the verge as the two men gawk at each other.

Gucci's hearing drowns out the worker's words as he continues to stare at Da Silva, before lowering down to see a little girl with short red hair standing closely by his side. Sharon's eyes lit up as she spots the officer also, his uniform and face alarming her of the danger. Quickly and cleverly, she detaches herself from her father and grabs hold of a woman's hand.

"Hi there." Sharon beams.

"Why, hello there." The woman smiles, looking unsure but willingly to hold onto her hands, seeing a worker up ahead, they both turn a corner out of view.

Chris reacts but quickly corrects himself, walking towards the exit, knowing he would have to go back to Sharon soon. Thomas kept his eyes on the father now.

"Chris!" Officer Thomas Gucci finally sputters out as Christopher Da Silva is forced to pass him on the way to the front entrance.

He silently scolds himself. "Oh, hello...Gucci." Chris hesitates briefly on his name, instantly reminded that he never thought he'd see anyone familiar again with his many rules. Chris smiles as he finds a sort of comfort in it, and rightly so as Thomas forgets about the little girl in turn. They shake hands and move out of line to the side.

"I'm...actually surprised you're here. I knew that you moved." Thomas says, feeling inexplicitly happy.

"Yeah, I did move. A few weeks ago. They transferred me and I'm writing on the side as a hobby." Chris realizes that he's going to keep on talking.

This was completely different than having a conversation with a little girl or a small town babysitter. Something that he wanted subconsciously: talking to another adult.

"It's been a hard first few weeks for me, y'know. New home, new life..."

"Oh, no. I understand." Gucci says.

No matter how brief, the two haven't had a more satisfying conversation in a long time. But Chris was conciously aware of a disturbing thought underneath this fuzzy feeling. An odd occurrence kept coming up of missing people, and the ones that are found have some pretty bizarre deaths that are unexplainable. Rose and Sharon weren't the only ones. The Toluca County reached all the way from Brahams to Silent Hill. Does officer Gucci know anything about this matter...?

Chris couldn't bring that up. He had to get out of here. How long is it okay to leave your kid unattended in a place like this?

Chris holds up a book for Thomas to see clearly. "I have to go. I just went shopping, watched that new movie, and now I'm tired. We...could talk again some other time."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Wait! I don't have your number. Your old one's cut off." Thomas says.

"Of course. Here`s my new one." Chris scribbles numbers on a receipt and hands it over.

Immediately he curses himself. Everything he was doing was just coming out wrong, like with everything else in his life. Thomas glances at the book while he stuffs the receipt in his pocket.

"Still studying for that new book of yours?"

"Huh?" A confused expression comes across his face, before connecting the question with his purchases. "Yeah, I have a whole shelf of these and personal interviews in a box back at my house. Just papers that I don't read much because I'm too used to using a computer."

"That's great. Send me a copy when you're finished. I'll sell it to the highest bidder when you become famous."

"Thanks." Chris chuckles.

They shake hands again. Christopher waits over by the door before coming back in to pick up Sharon and return home. An encounter that close to blowing their cover would leave them uneasy for weeks.

Thomas doesn't return home right away. He wanders the streets until his shoes feels like they have holes burned into them. One thing was on his mind: pizza. With twenty different toppings, fresh from the oven, an entire box just for him and his growling stomach. Now there was a thought as he made his way home to his family.


	5. Chapter 4

Later that week, as promised, they made plans to meet at the Italian restaurant to initiate the friendship stage. Gucci makes an intricate story of meeting with an old friend while Da Silva pays the babysitter for another night. They were both nervous, but it was an ordinary enough place, single legged, round tables with large umbrellas were the defining characteristics for this outdoor cafe. It was spacious with families and couples seated away at a comfortable distance, a tall, criss-crossed fence with dark borders surrounding the side lawn of the restaurant. Down the hill are passing traffic, but birds hidden in the planted trees chirp and favourable music pours from inside.

"Thank you." Thomas and Chris thanks the waiter as he goes to take their orders.

"Did Silent Hill have any famous celebrities or important figures? I always thought that a town once so grand would have at least one." Chris says, clattering his silverware and plate in an attempt to straighten it up more, wiping some of it with a napkin.

Thomas munches on a bread stick. "A few."

"Do you remember any of their names?"

"The Artaud's owned the theatre and were quite well off. You should have seen Silent Hill back in its glory days: it wasn't all bad, it had an amusement park, tourist sites, an old mine-"

Thomas went on, no mention of any Wolfs. Finally their orders arrive and they eat.

"See you again next week?" Chris asks disappointedly, unable to obtain anything important or relevant.

They finished their meals and about to head off, standing near the door of the restaurant.

"No kisses on first dates?" Thomas jokes, closing in on Chris near the door.

"No..." Startled, he hits the wall where a poster crumples to the floor.

"Either you kiss me or I'll do it." Thomas closes in some more, unable to control himself now.

Unexpectedly, Chris quickly pecks him on the cheek, both of them looking around embarrassingly.

Thomas covers his lower face and backs away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Dying with embarrassment, Chris looks down. "Uh, no, I should apologize."

Chris runs out the door and to his car before forgetting to say good-bye, then they both drive off to their homes.

* * *

"Oh, my god!" Chris yells into a pillow.

When he had planned to get close to Gucci, he hadn't meant like that. He was pressured. He panicked. He didn't actually want to do it. Chris moans as he can't think of how their next meeting will go, doubting anything more to happen now; no more information on Alessa Gillespie, Claudia Wolf and, most of all, no more on Rose.

"Dad?" Sharon peeks through the door, jumping into bed and before long snoring.

"My day went great, thanks." Chris whispers sarcastically.

He drags the heavy covers over Sharon's small body and combs red strings of hair off her face. Over her he sees a glow from the coffee table, his laptop on, no doubt the novel again. Why was she reading his manuscript every time he left?

"Good night. Call me whenever you want. I need the pay." The babysitter calls from the other side.

"See you." Chris groans, laying down.

A head sticks through the open door. "Tell your wife I said g' night, too. Is she still on duty?"

"I told you. On a business trip. Won't be back for months."

"Right." And the head disappears with a loud bang from the entrance.

Chris lets out another groan and rubs his face, ready to roll to his side when he feels Sharon breathing. He couldn't grasp just how small and tragic this child was. Just what did his Rose go through too? He wraps his arms around her, releasing a long sigh, and drifts off to sleep to the soothing, rhythmic sound of breaths. He couldn't help but smile all night.

* * *

While at Thomas's home, he was going over just how awkward their parting was. He was married and had no intention of that kind of relationship

Allison walks into the bedroom and catches Thomas undressing, sitting on the bed in the dark. She crawls behind him and massages his back as he undoes his tie.

"What is it, darling? Was it your dinner?" She whispers, kissing his neck and helping with taking off his shirt.

"My damn date was late, he was noisy trying to be clean and orderly, and then _he_ did something stupid and just ran off."

"Sounded fun." She sarcastically states, neatly folding his shirt.

Thomas hangs his head back, relaxing while being massaged. He smells in her sweet perfume, twirling her long blonde hair in his fingers, and wonders how it was like being home all alone while he worked late hours.

Allison was visibly trying to seduce him but he couldn't get the soft pressure of Chris's lips on his cheek out of his mind.

"I'm not in the mood." Thomas coldly states, getting up and pulling off his pants then jumping into bed.

"Okay." Allison says quietly. "You know, I try so damn hard to please you." She starts, uncharacteristically. "I cook, clean, and we have sex when _you_ want it!"

"Hold on, I don't make you do any of those." Thomas sits up agitatedly.

"I'm not forced to do any of those, but you make me when you get in a foul mood and ignore me. Don't treat me like an idiot, Thomas, I know your job's hard and I'm sorry about Margaret, but I know about your ideal women, like some 1940's fantasy."

Thomas stops himself in time. He thought back to his father, who was always filling his head with all kinds of junk, like the ideal marriage and was the main reason he joined the force and married Allison.

Neither went on with the fight but it takes hours for them to sleep. Thomas lays there, half asleep and already dreaming about the fire that killed his father and Gillespie. He knew he had to see Da Silva again, even if his wife or messenger didn't agree with it.

* * *

Another murder. The body hangs from a rope tied to a ceiling fan, at the bottom are three people, two men and a single woman holding her hands in prayer.

"Who was she?" She asks, looking disheartened and subtly frowning at the men.

"A worthless woman. Used to be employed at the Polly Dori school for young children."

She glares at him. "What a waste."

The two men glance at each other before averting their eyes as she prayed for the young victim.

After a few days police officers arrives on the same scene, among them is Inspector Thomas Gucci. One officer comes upon a propped open book directly under the body, part of a series of three. This was the first part.

"Huh, some book by the name of Paul Scheible. Isn't he the one that wrote for that magazine about magic or somethin'?"

Thomas grabs the book and studies the cover, deliberately made old-fashioned and small, and flips through the pages. "He provided interviews and inside looks of Silent Hill, of religious groups and rumours. A shy local star. You read it too? Real in-depth but skeptic. Funny how he's making novels of it, though." Thomas mutters something under his breath as the officers continue their work. A page has an image of a very familiar object...Thomas gropes around his chest, feeling the chain and knowing his pendant was there. According to the bottom text, it kept ancient shamans from being eaten and thrown into the netherworlds. Is that why the cults gave it to him? How superstitious...

After a few hours, some officers take a break then later Thomas joins them.

"Another one gone, huh? What do you got on her?" A man phones for information. "At that school again, huh?"

"So what'd you got?" Gucci asks.

"Joe just happened to come across a little pattern. This here woman and that Da Silva husband met a few times weeks ago, him and Sister Margaret had a confrontation once and now she's gone, and then another woman from that same school also died. That husband knew them all, I'll bet."

Thomas listens silently to the conversation while going over notes.

"We're being too biased against him. The guy just lost his wife and kid. We're a small town, too much gossip."

"None of us has a clue what's happenin' here. Everybody associated with that guy is either missing or dead. I'm just sayin'..."

"We're not saying anything. Now get back to work." Thomas says, walking out to the hall and phones Christopher. He picks up. "Chris, just calling to say I found your book. Pretty interesting. Didn't know it was your pseudonym on these stories. Where'd you get all that information anyways, huh, Chris?"

Da Silva is at his computer, typing more things down and looking over his documents. He doesn't answer until coughing. "Just looking around, y'know?"

"I thought I told you not to go near Silent Hill, Chris."

"I didn't. Not for a long time. Thanks for your faith in me, officer." He hangs up.

Looking back inside to the crime scene, sighing, he bottles up his frustration at this unfortunate event of Chris being suspected of other murders as well as his own family's. This wasn't done by the husband and he also knew for sure it wasn't the cults from Silent Hill. This was being done by an entirely different person or group. It's usually contained within the town and his "other job" required him to do the clean-up. He had no choice but to wait for more body counts within his own town to know more about each connection, and before then, it might be too late as it might reach Christopher anytime.

* * *

The refrigerator door swings open, Sharon peers in before slamming it shut again, and then moving onto the cupboard where only a box of crackers and soda pop laid.

"Dad! I'm hungry!" She yells with her dad watching a home video of Rose as a younger teenager.

He answers back, not daring to miss a moment on screen. "Did you look around, first?"

"Yes!" She flops to the floor, exasperatedly.

Chris grunts unhappily, forcing himself up and checks his wallet. Only twenty bucks. And he wasn't paid yet and he didn't have a credit card. He looks back to the television sitting from across the bed. A skinny girl wore ripped jeans and a black hoodie, with thick make-up, laughed merrily and hid from the camera in a park. Eventually, Rose got bored and annoyed of the camera, sat down and lit a cigarette.

Even though Sharon was adopted, Chris couldn't help but chuckle at the similarities, wondering if the only reason Rose chose her was because of her intuition of them being so alike. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He only hoped Sharon wouldn't be a copy of how Rose was as a teen.

"I love you, Sharon." Chris holds and kisses Sharon's forehead.

She gives a hug before he tears himself away from her. He stuffs the twenty, taking a quick glance outside to see the conditions, and then runs for the car in the bitter cold and drives to the nearest store.

It isn't until after he pays for the Mac and Cheese with some junk food that Chris fully realizes just how cold it was. All he's wearing is a T-shirt and loose fitting pants. He cranks up the heat, hoping his frail, crap of a car could handle it. The road just stretches on, a small traffic jam, and then the vehicle slows down to a halt. He's forced to park it in the side of the road with no money and no phone. Now he was in a strange town he was still getting used to. Was it even safe to be on the road alone with all the murders going on? For all he knows, Chris could be next on the list and being watched this very moment...

"Shit." He mumbles, watching for any passing vehicles.

The road wasn't very popular for some reason and barely anyone passed, but luckily he's able to wave down a single car for help.

"Need some help?" A middle-aged man with a southern accent asks, poking his head out.

"Yes. I need some gas."

"Sorry, don't have much left myself. But I got a cellphone."

"May I use it?" Chris rubs his bare arms, feeling fully exposed in the biting cold.

After the stranger fumbles around for it he hands it over, Chris is left holding the cellphone not knowing who to call. He was out of money and no credit cards so he couldn't ask for service, and he knew no one in town. All except for one acquaintance...

* * *

Thomas Gucci is in the middle of a mild commotion, ordering people around and acquiring of important evidence, nearing the exposing and arrest of the drug criminals hiding out in Silent Hill. After nearly a month working out how to safely search for their hide-out, all of Thomas's and his team's efforts were almost paid off. Amanda hands over photographs of men in an old factory: the hide-out.

"Thanks, Amanda."

"I can handle the paperwork, too." She says, standing her ground for an old reason.

"That's all I need. Once we catch them, I'll do them myself." Thomas ignores her.

"How long have I been working here? I'm not a kid, Gucci, I'm here to do a job. I can do everything you can do, maybe even more if I'm been given the chance."

Slightly offended, Thomas eyes the young woman. He didn't know why, but Amanda was always adamant to have his approval even if it wasn't necessary. Thomas shoves a folder towards her that he's been holding and smiles.

"This is an old case. See if you tell me anything by tonight, then I'll believe you." Then before any more could be said, Thomas runs into his office and shuffles around his desk. When he leaves the room, his cellphone rings until pausing, then rings again.

"Did you get it?" A woman asks, holding her hands out to Gucci.

"Oh, I forgot one. Be right back" Thomas runs back into his office to brush away the silent phone, when it rings again.

He answers it. "Hello?"

"Gucci, thank God." Chris holds in a relieved laugh, the stranger carefully watching him. "I need your help."

"You need my help? With what?" Thomas thinks back to his message of a wanted father. Help with a hostage situation? Is there a gun at his head? In Thomas's opinion, Da Silva's answer took too long.

"I'm out of gas. Can you pick me up or get me a tank of gas, please? And hurry, I'm dying in this weather!"

Thomas clutches the papers in his hands, contemplating before throwing it on the desk and grabbing his jacket and keys.

"There's an emergency. I'll be back." And with that, he left.

* * *

Chris waits huddled in his car, listening to the few cars that passes every few minutes until a teal coloured car slows down and pulls up behind him. It wasn't hard for Gucci to spot Da Silva's red car, the only one parked on the side of the road for miles around. Now Christopher was actually feeling the isolations around them, being reminded of that ghost town just a few miles out. He did articles and based a book from there. He knew so much about that town, including all the other mysterious deaths and disappearances, causing him to feel somewhat uneasy with the officer. Did he know anything about it? They both exit their vehicles at the same time as Chris struggles with shutting his door, Thomas pulling out an orange container.

"I already got some in here. Damn, Chris. Where's the hell are your clothes?" Thomas looks pitifully at him.

"I know. It's nearing that season. Everybody hates it, right?" Chris gives a small smile and takes the container.

Thomas waits and watches. Now that Chris thought about it, having Gucci help him with something like this would almost qualify as being friends. He knew it wouldn't take much to make the investigator "accidently" let something slip about Silent Hill.

"Thanks for your help. It's hard being new and not knowing anybody."  
"Why didn't you just call some services?" Thomas sits on the hood of his car, crossing his arms and looking concerned.

Chris leans on the roof, looking down before smiling as if nothing was wrong. "I was buying groceries and forgot to fill up. And I didn't have my cellphone on me." He quickly removes his arm from the burning sting of the roof and rubs it. To his embarrassment, Chris just remembers that he had just called him, then to quickly change the subject, he says, "God, it's freezing out." Then much to his surprise, the investigator unzips and tosses his winter jacket to Chris, where he almost has to juggle with the two objects.

"Thanks." Chris quickly zips up and breathes in the warm, slightly scented coat, accompanied with the other smell of gasoline from his hands.

Thomas takes back his gas container and leans on the roof, watching, buttoning up his suit. Chris's brown hair ruffles as he adjusts the hood, the expression of absolute gratitude and hint of embarrassment.

"You're welcome. If you need any help, from now on, I'm the one to call." Thomas chuckles, opening the door.

Chris suddenly jumps forward. "Uh, you mean that? 'Cause I thought that there was this woman named-"

"Hold on, Chris." He raises his hands to stop him, an idea forming. "That's a habit, huh? Always about Silent Hill. Okay, then..." The door of the car slams shut, the rocks under his feet being kicked as Thomas makes his way to the side of Chris's car to face him. "I'm not telling you a thing about Silent Hill anymore, or anything related to that town. Got that?" He points his finger at Chris's confused face.

"Fine..." Chris murmurs, then speaks louder. "Whatever. Just trying to make conversation. You seem to know a lot more about that town than the others."

"Than the 'others'?" Thomas suddenly looks away and scoffs.

Those "others" on the police force couldn't come close to their expertise that he had acquired through personal and professional experiences.

"I'll make you a deal, Da Silva..." Thomas avoids Chris's stare. "If you give me a kiss, I'll tell anything about that town."

There's a moment of silence between the two, gasoline lingering in the air and the wind becoming more violent on that isolated highway.

"Well?" Thomas Gucci asks, now questioning the extent of Chris's obsession.

He shakes his head and gives up, and then Chris walks forward and stands closely. Their breaths are hot on each other's cold faces, their lips inching closer and closer until it makes contact. Chris just shuts his eyes and grips the thick sleeves as Thomas holds it a little bit too long. He has to pull himself away as Chris turns his back on him, swinging the door open and holding it.

"What about your question?" Thomas asks over the howling wind.

"Another time. It's freezing out here. Thanks again for the gas." Chris chuckles nervously before jumping in and driving off.

Now it was done, Thomas thought, he got what he wanted and it was over. The only problem was that his heart was about to make him pass out, he was going over and over how the kiss should have gone differently, and just how badly he wanted more.


	6. Chapter 5

Sirens blare, newscast pile up to the front of the orphanage and civilians crowd to see the spectacle, while inside a body is being recovered.

"And last night, a nun, whose name is being withheld, had apparently died tonight at approximately 7:00 PM." A woman speaks loudly into the microphone. "The janitor had reportedly came to check up on her and found the nun to have been sprawled on the ground-"

Chris gently shoves his daughter off the couch. "Sharon, go play in my room, 'kay?"

He watches her until she's playing with her dolls in her closet. It was decorated with pinks and yellows with some of her possessions, which took weeks to organize and place in his closet. It was homey now but it wasn't the same as her previous bedroom. Chris looks back to the television.

"I can assure you. There was no forced entry whatsoever and no evidence of foul play. We are investigating the matter at hand and are continuing to do so until we have sufficient information." Officer Thomas Gucci updates with the already suspected homicide.

It's cold outside with light snowfall that morning, but it seems like Gucci was in a hurry and wears only a thick jacket; his ears and hands turning pink.

A nun at the orphanage? He stays glued to the T.V with a feeling of anxiety and nervousness building.

On screen, Gucci puts up his hands in defense to a question. Even his leather gloves were off.

Christopher is reminded of the time Gucci talked to him at the orphanage.

"Many different forms of justice, Chris. See, you got man's, God's, and even the Devil's. Certain forms you just can't control." Then he was shown his burned palms as a sort of proof of it. This confrontation took place at the orphanage where he adopted Sharon, he met Sister Margret there, though their last meeting wasn't a fond memory.

Glancing between the news of the tortured Sister and Sharon playing, Chris thinks if there really were such justices in the world, because if any were true, he could see they clearly were not working out. He knew something much more was happening. And turning on his laptop, he feverishly types in updates for his research which continued to grow with more and more of the truth surrounding this mystery.

* * *

Thomas had flashbacks of Sister Margaret's body lay startling contorted and her face frozen in fear. What kind of unimaginable pain had she gone through while she was being tortured before it ended nearly into the next day? He told everyone the Sister's life was tragically shortened by some sadistic sicko who somehow found his way into her bedroom. This was his friend, and still he covered for those people. Pathetic.

"Sir..." Rookie Amanda pokes her head through the door. "I just got the rest of the analysis."

"Put it there." He says, pointing to a pile of files on the desk.

"Sir-"  
"Just call me Gucci. 'Sir' sounds so old."

"Gucci...I know how close you were with her. The nun, I mean."

"You don't have to say anything. She lived a happy life with the Lord."

Both their thoughts went to Heaven where the good people's souls supposedly flew to.

"No," Thomas looks down to Margaret's case file. "She's not anywhere. Maggie's body will just decay in the dirt like everybody else in the world. There's no heaven or hell... "

"No good or bad?" Amanda whispers to him. Thomas looks up immediately suprised at the words. She looked at him, then before long she hides her face, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "How could you say that?" her voice trembling as she avoided his stare, becoming aware of the older officer's beliefs.

Thomas was suddenly aware of how harsh his words were for such a young person. He gets up, sighing deeply as he walks around his desk to where the rookie was, her eyes reddening and clutching her hat. Just outside the door were clatters of the building and police officers. It was dry and cold in the dimly lit room, natural bars of light stretching across being sufficient enough.

"Chin up! Wipe your eyes. There's no reason for _you_ to cry." Thomas says, fixing up her collar shirt.

Amanda wipes her face then combs through her hair, before resting her head on the officer's shoulder. Her sobbing embarrasses Gucci, he's about push her away when arms wrap around him. All Thomas can do in return was a reassuring hand on the shoulders.

"Okay, that's enough." Gucci chokes.

An image of a little girl came to mind, no older than Amanda, maybe looking how Gucci had looked in childhood. The vulnerability and the reality of life so fragile on their youthfulness made him feel both protective and helpless. Then gently pulling her closer, Thomas felt fulfilled as he attempts to soothe the young woman as he allows himself to shed a few tears also.

While on Thomas's desk, his phone bleeps softly for his new message.

"Ignore the suspicious men in your town."

* * *

In the neighbourhood of Da Silva, the father sits leaning back on his bed, a voice recorder touching his lips and a remote in the other hand. He flips on the television, news of the nun's death.

"It's been confirmed by investigators that an unidentified person had forced their way in-" He pauses it, a beautiful woman in the middle of the screen, the background the orphanage.

He clicks the play button on the voice recorder, an elderly woman voice answering questions. "This here, you see, used to belong to a young girl I know." A brand new pair of shoes which fitted perfectly. "She goes to religious gatherings with her family all the time. I'd see them wearing the same collar shirts and dresses with their weird medallions everyday-"

"Wait a minute, who are these people? I asked about the alledged survival of cults still living here." Chris had said.

"Oh, yeah? I was just telling you about them, the people who go to church everyday."

He presses stop then gets up to pop open a container. A cult still living in Silent Hill? Gillespie becomes horribly disfigured as a child, the entire town goes up in flames, then a mysterious child appears on the doorstep of an orphanage? He could picture it, Alessa being chased down by fanatics who tracks her and her baby down. To save her, the mother leaves her child in the care of a nun, then eventually to a foster family. Only in vain for the child and her foster family to be in danger...Nah. Chris rumages through the box. Rose's expired license? No. Police photos? Not what he's looking for either. Here it is.

The police department weren't releasing much details but the news have been all over it, being one of the first series of murders since the early 1990s. All the murders recently were connected, Chris thought as he scattered photographs of the victims on the coffee table.  
"First known victim: A regular business man who rides the bus to work everyday, practically no personal life." Chris tacks a thread of string to his photograph on his wall. "Two other people. All unconnected other than they frequent the bus route or school. Then Sister Margaret." He connects the thread to three more photographs. "Any ideas?" Chris looks onto his invisible audience. "Of course not. Gucci gets a whole team..." He rolls his eyes, then backs away to the middle of the room to view his findings: black and white photographs of many people, several written papers of reminders and general information of what was above it; on the side is a shelf dedicated solely to supernatural books; and under the bed are two containers, filled to the brim with pieces of evidences and other objects and documents, some admittedly stolen. It all looked to be the work of a madman.

Christopher stays up for the rest of the night with Sharon sleeping next to him, endlessly going over his "hobby's" notes. Going over this entire trail, he knew that it wasn't all just a coincidence: the murders were connected to Chris and Sharon. Now he was sure of it.

"Rose, where are you?" He says just above a whisper, scrolling down his document folder.

A crash disrupts his focus, causing him to jump just as he realizes that it was nothing. Sharon remains fast asleep. In was all in his head, though it was undeniable that he was being stalked, it just wasn't real when it concerned his home. That much he knew. Rules, rules, and more rules. You can bend it, you can break it, but you can never beat Christopher Da Silva's rules. Sharon and him were safe...for now as long as they had the time, and time was running out fast. Either he is found and killed or the truth reveals itself as time went on. The truth of Rose, if she was still living and held hostage or already killed. All he wanted was some answers. A little closure.

After hours of going over his draft, Christopher's body aches with Sharon's feet feeling heavier, his bones cracking as he leans back and groans that turns into a yawn. He's about to doze off, his fingers unintentionally touching his daughter's warm hand, and nearly dreaming...

"Chris darling..." A woman's voice startles him awake.

"Rose." He's shocked to see her sitting on the coffee table opposite him, sitting calmly and wearing a white dress, her wavy blonde hair combed back, giving an emphasis on her youthful complexion and beautiful blue eyes.

"Rose!" He repeats, jumping forward and holds her dearly, smelling her perfume and feeling her warm skin, but he realizes there is no one there as he lifts up his head, only Sharon.  
What a fool he was, it's been forever since his last premonition of his wife, and he fell for it like it was the first time. He glances at the shelf where the cellphone remains silent. Quickly, he throws all his stuff back into its containers and under his bed, then he returns and rests on the sofa.

Now, more than ever, Chris has to find Rose. It wasn't just the police he had to worry about, now running on his tail was someone else. To kill them, to kidnap them, it didn't matter. All he knew was that the more time he wasted the less chance he had of saving Rose. He had to figure out this mystery before they were all in danger. But more importantly at hand was his health. Nobody could save the world in a day, he's only human and so he needed his rest.

It felt pretty obvious for Chris to identify the first troubles of getting the vivid nightmares by now: sweat pouring down his body, cold shivers, and surreal images plaguing his mind with very real fears. He dreamt of failing everyone. He couldn't protect his family and now they were all paying the price.

Exactly what happened at the day of the accident? No traces of them, no signs of them in the country anymore, and even more mysterious is the gap between the accident and Sharon's return. What did the kidnappers want? Obviously to kill them all. He couldn't help but feel guilt as he thought that they released his daughter, like a hound, to go find Chris and lead the kidnappers to him. All the photos flashed in his mind, written words of newspapers and sounds of the television all wrap tightly around his mind just to show the magnitude of his obsession.

Chris tosses and turns, feeling his body pulsate with intense heat so that he felt he'd melt into the sofa, then he feels himself shaking and stirring awake.

"Dad! Dad!" Sharon's terrified cries startles Chris, his body shakes from her pushing him awake.

"Wake up!"

"I'm awake!" He's sweating profusely and panting, a look of relief on his face when he feels something solid in his clammy palms.

"What's this? Did you put the cellphone in my hand, Sharon?"

She shakes her head, swinging her red hair, her huge blue eyes saying she was telling the truth. She turns her attention to Chris then to the phone, eyeing it with fear and keeping her distance.

Chris suspiciously pries it open, the little window blinking and the message box automatically opening:

'"Claudia Wolf' From: Rose"

"Claudia Wolf?" Chris mumbles, a name to which Sharon responds with a surprised expression. "Do you know her?" he asks.

"Sounds like a nice person." She answers. "But I don't know her." And that was the truth. The name just sounded familiar. Oh, if only she could tell him everything.

"Are you sure?" Chris presses on. What wasn't she telling him? Christopher knew that he had sleep-walked when the phone rang, his body unconsciously retrieving it. Sharon had been like that once, too, plagued by a mysterious illness that she no longer had. Rose _is_ still alive and the message proved it, but who was this Wolf? Because if this was the beginning of a trail that ends with Rose, he was going to try his damn hardest. Taking a look at his computer, he knew now he had the continuing storyline for his mystery novel.

Sharon glares at the monitor, thinking. Horrible people had her and her mother, they did terrible things, she forced herself to forget. But she was able to escape from Silent Hill. She remembers running away to home, waiting with her mother for Christopher to return. But now they were both paying the price.

At that thought she clamped up again, her mouth freezes as an intense feeling of despair washes over her, quickly turning away to hide in her room. They didn't release her like Christopher thought. Then they wouldn't have a problem finding them. They had to stalk strangers with connections with Chris just to glimpse them. Even now the people couldn't find their home.

The first thing Christopher did was cook dinner for Sharon and put her to bed, then went on to Google "Claudia Wolf". There was nothing to be found, there was no documentation, no news articles, the town was just starting out so it was futile to find anything worthy.

Leaning back with the bright light of the screen glaring in his face. Well, if nothing showed up on the interwebs, then he'd have to go around the old fashioned way. Only problem, he didn't know how to do that; he wasn't a detective like in comics he read as a child or seen in the movies. He only paid to know how to do things technologically.

The old stinging fear of prison came flooding back: he could be charged for stealing, Sharon would be found and they'd start accusations; I had killed my wife and kidnapped my own daughter, acting as the innocent husband worried about his family. Then there's meddling, causing disruptions, lying...the list seemed endless. He could be thrown in jail for life!

But if Chris only had to endure some little nightmares and fear of prison for the sake of finding his wife safe and sound, he would go through hell and death row for her. He loved Rose, and nothing in the world could change that.

Early the next morning on a weekend, Chris calls in the babysitter and drives off for the long ride to Silent Hill. Again, he was at the very familiar entrance to the town: the chained up gate with the bridge in sight and a hill of cigarettes, where he waited for some great revelation.

Chris steps out of his car and clutches the heavy lock, the cold sting reddening his hands. The skies were grey and the ground moist, ready for the season of winter. Chris absolutely adored all the sports and most of all the cold. But nothing excited him anymore. Besides, who else liked winter but him? Traffic, closed stores, stalled engines...etc.

He sighs, the purpose of Rose willing him on.

Beyond the gate and up the road used to be Rose's jeep where it layed in a ditch, and beyond that is Silent Hill, a deserted and poisonous town with its gruesome history of cults, sacrificed children and the devastating coal fire of 1974.

If Gucci had known Alessa Gillespie, then would he know Claudia Wolf? And what about Sharon, what did she know, how is it so terrible that it threatens their very lives? He knew everything about cults and crazy people, and he knew exactly what those kidnappers wanted.

Get more information about this Claudia Wolf and what her involvement is or will be, and it's most likely something undocumented or destroyed.

Visible beyond the gate is a mist slithering along the ground. He shivers, but with newly found determination, Chris readies himself to jump over that gate or ram into it when he hears a soft engine dying behind him. He almost makes a run for it, but an officer comes in striding confidently towards him.

"Officer Gucci." Chris breathes, surprised.

Thomas looks down at his cellphone with the message, "Warning, red line crossed."

So what are they worried about some obsessed husband? Da Silva didn't have his daughter anymore, so he couldn't be the father they were stalking. Whatever connection Sharon had with her double, Alessa, it didn't matter anymore. She was dead.

"So, Da Silva," He tucks his phone away. "What were you thinking about doing? It's been months now, and there's nothing over there to find. Just give up and live your life, Chris."

Play it cool, Chris thinks. "You know me, it's a habit." Just then, he had a thought. Chris knew Thomas wanted to be friends with him, so if he acted nice enough, Thomas could let him in some more of Silent Hill, and possibly find out who this Wolf was. Chris takes out a cigarette and lights it. "This town is pretty old, isn't it?"

"Yes, it was built a long time ago before becoming a ghost town after the fire. You shouldn't be hanging around here anymore, it's dangerous. There are some criminals who made this their personal hang-out." Thomas ignores the cigarette smoke and walks closer, peering behind the gate to make sure nobody was there.

"One of your buddies investigating it?" Christopher asks, puffing a smoke ring and looking through the gate also.

Thomas suddenly remembers the current case he was working on with the drug dealers, while the Da Silva missing case was tucked away to be forgotten. But he knew that the unsolved case was causing some rumors for the widower over the mysterious disappearance.

Gucci walks over to the pile of cigarettes and kicks it before turning to face Da Silva.

"Yes, as a matter of fact it's our new rookie. She's trained but inexperienced. Just like a kid learning to ride a bike." Thomas says smiling, clanging the gate as he leans against it.

Chris continues to smoke to the distaste of Thomas.

"You know I'm not going to leave until you do." Thomas says knowingly.

Chris paces and looks up. "You're right...do you like me?"

They both immediately blush. "That's not what I meant."

"Yes, I know what you meant, Chris. I do like you." Gucci clears his throat.

He hears a rustling and turns to see figures running back down the road. The druggies. Thomas steps nearer to Chris and slowly grabs the little cancer stick, leering to see Chris's surprised expression, and puts it out.

A protective urgency fills Thomas up as he thinks of saving his life from lung cancer, and grabs his arm to tear him away from the gate, away from the dangerous criminals.


	7. Chapter 6

While her father read the newspaper in his room, Sharon planned to surprise him with a meal that she learned. She happily hops to the kitchen. The babysitter that watches over her taught her all kinds of useful things, including cooking and proper cleaning. Of course, she hated it, but with the thought of her father basking her with praises moved her on. She wanted the person raising her to love her and she'd do anything for it. She had to do it. It felt like she was losing everybody she loves no matter what she did.

And so taking out ingredients and preparations, she began to cook whatever the name of it was. After a few minutes, she proudly looks over her creation and calls for her dad.  
"Did you cook something?" Her dad asks, walking to the kitchen with his nose held high, sniffing.

She nods with a giant grin and shows the bubbling meal still heating in the pot. Chris quickly shuts it off.

"Uh, I think you overcooked...this." Chris lifts the lid and takes out the disfigured plastic spoon.

"Dad?" Sharon looks up at her father, carefully studying his face and gestures before figuring out he was worrying over what to say.

"You were the one always doing the cooking, right dad?"

"Yes." He nods, smiling out of some pride.

He remembers the days when Rose used to be here, burning food and causing more of a mess when she cleaned, and whenever he was feeling anxious she'd pinch his nose and say, "If you worry too much, you'd grow a tail." An appropriate thing to say towards such a stressed professor.

Then completely unexpected to Chris, Sharon hugs her father tightly and reaches for his face, giggling. "You smile funny. You think if you smile enough you'd feel more happy? Frowns make you grow tails." She giggles, finding his expressions amusing.

Sharon had to be the cutest little girl in the world, all Chris could think, and how obedient she's been lately, smelling the aroma swimming around. He picks her up in his arms and swings her around with the both laughing until he became exhausted and puts her down. He sits on the floor with Sharon, out of breath and stomach hurting.

"You're marks have been sky high. All the teachers say you're the sweetest little thing they've seen, always working and reading, they say. Are you liking your new school?" He still pants, trying to catch his breath.

Images of students throwing a rain of books on her, punching her, and then a dreaded washroom and an awful boiler room makes her shudder as she remembers the old days of school in Silent Hill. Although... Sharon had never attended school in Silent Hill. But Alessa, her mother, has. In his book, Christopher writes of a mother who, out of desperation, leaves her baby with a church and disappears. Not much is written about the child, more of the mother and the reason why she did it, but Sharon prefers that for she did not want too much attention given to her.

"I love school and hope to always do well for you."

"You don't got any friends." Chris finally catches his breath, then he sees his daughter look solemnly, she remembers something, but she'll guard her secret always.

"I don't talk to strangers." She imagines strangers as mean, evil people who kidnap little boys and girls, looking like monsters from the inside and dragging souls down into Hell with their long arms.

Beside Chris, she sees the newspaper and grabs it.

_**Brahams Spectator**_

_**Teacher Commits Suicide**_

_Last week, a teacher has, in what it appears to be, committed suicide in the Polly Dori School in her classroom. Details are sketchy at the moment as police are reluctant to release any more than the general information, so the circumstances surrounding it and the reason as to why this individual would choose to end her life is unknown at this time. Police has implied speculation of this being connected with previous murders but refused to comment on the subject any further._

Sharon reads it, terrified, and looks up at her father who is busy cleaning the kitchen. School was cancelled today and her father wouldn't say why. This couldn't be. She loved her teacher. She loved Sister Margaret. Her parents she both loved now. Why was everybody dying around her?

She goes into her room and sits in the darkness, calming down and reassuring herself. They were strangers, all of them, only for her mother she could not say. She glances around her room for some answer, the reason why she couldn't remember beyond that day when she was found in her old living room, why she only saw grey with inhuman screams, she was unable to remember. Whatever feeling she may have felt at the beginning ceased and she began to wonder if she was the one causing all this change in herself.

She realizes she's clutching the newspaper, she turns the large pages until she comes upon a picture of Thomas Gucci. He was the one that saved her mother as a child. In a fit of rage, she tears up the paper and lays down, trying to contain her feelings. They've been trying to avoid the police, their friends and family all these weeks, but the real threat was Thomas. He was the nicest man in the world but, thinking of her father's approval, he was considered a stranger now. And all strangers were evil.

* * *

A few days later, Chris messages Thomas to meet him at the Amusement Park. He thought it might've been a nice change from the previous dinner, and it would be busy enough so they could talk about anything.

"Dad! I'm almost finished making dinner. Come see!" Sharon giggles, jumping out wearing an apron.

Her babysitter sneaks up behind her, grabbing her to give her a small noogie as Sharon giggles and trying to free herself. Her laugh chimes in the air with the lively sound of pots boiling and pans sizzling, the whole kitchen their own private experiments for newfound recipes.

"Daddy, you have to see what we're making." She skips over and lands dramatically on the couch next to her father. She cringes her nose and covers her mouth.

"You smell bad." She says, looking at the burnt out cigarette.

"Yes I do. Okay, then..." Chris yawns and stretches. "I'm going out, 'kay? And Sharon, I know what's mine is yours, but can you leave the laptop alone? I'm working on something very important."

They could both hear the clanging of pots and pans, a salivating aroma grows throughout the house.

"I never touched anything. You always leave your laptop open when you come back, and-and remember that time when you screamed and said I put the phone in your hands? I didn't do any of those things. You're the one always stuffing those letters away too." Sharon pouts.

"But-"

The babysitter hums. It hit Chris that the young man was snooping around his apartment.

Is he planning to steal something or is he just bored? There was no way he'd get another sitter in time who had the perfect qualifications as him. It would have to wait.

"-you get it, don't read it, then go right back to sleep." Sharon continues wailing.

"Okay, Sharon. Just make sure you keep my computer next to you and make sure he doesn't go through my boxes, understand?" I'll be back and deal with him later, he thought as he hurries out the door without even checking what Sharon had cooked for dinner.

* * *

Thomas flicks his cellphone open and closed, having just seen a new message by Chris to bring an old newspaper for him as a request. Their meeting is meant to be in an amusement park, with other people, and it was just for business as part of the deal they made. Where would they get the privacy though? Thomas thinks when Amanda barges in, twirling her hat and whistling. She plops a folder down on his desk.

"You hear about that new restaurant? Two dudes made out and I even heard they took a condom out! Right in public." The young officer starts with the usual to get into talking.

"What is it?" Thomas asks, hiding the phone.

"I finally decided to ask for help on this case you gave me. You never solved it." Amanda sits down and glares at him.

"Of course. I said it was old, not solved." He gets up and straightens his slightly crooked wall of photos. "I have someplace to be." He takes his coat.

"You don't have a happy marriage, do you, Mr. Gucci? The advice you gave me didn't work out."

"Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out with your boyfriend and don't forget to return that case."

"Return it?" She glances over at the file, sitting right next to the Brahams' killing spree case, an expression of confusion on her face.

She doesn't know where to put it, he thought, as he opened the door and taking one last look at her. That was actually an effective distraction. For a moment, though, as Amanda stretched for the file and clutched it anxiously, the rookie reminded him of his wish for a daughter.

"Uh..." Thomas holds the door with second thoughts of ditching her like this. "I'm coming back. Do you want anything?"

She slouches back with fingers touching thoughtfully. "I know they only sell it at one place, but I they really bring back fond memories of my father before... well, you know?"

"I think I have an idea what you're talking about. Cotton candy, right?"

Amanda gives an embarressed smile. "Yeah, you're right. But, if it's not an inconvience for you, that is..."

"No, it won't be, Amanda."

* * *

On a bench is a mother and daughter who chatter, Chris sitting next to them anxiously, wondering about what Gucci's answer may be. With all these murder sprees and Christopher's stalkers going on, he wasn't so sure he could allow himself to be so trustworthy of others

"Hey, Chris." Thomas calls out, barely audible from the mechanical whirrings and screams from the rides, just barely squeezing through the crowds. "Whew. I had to practically fight my way in here."

Da Silva doesn't responds, his impatience forcing Thomas into giving him a single piece of paper. This would be their shortest meeting yet. The officer prepares to leave when he smells the aroma of hotdogs and sweets. The two then look up at the brilliant blue sky with thick clouds hanging in the distance, hearing people chattering away and walking by while all around people scream and laugh, some children crying.

On days like these, Allison and Margaret would meet and talk their feelings over, never with him as his wife preferred it. Now he would never know what their conversations were about...

Chris studies the man, a man who he suspected _may_ know something about the other recent cases from Silent Hill, all with similiar patterns. He went out of his way for such a simple request, an old newspaper from some town. He may as well hang out with him to see if he can get further with Thomas.

"Are you up to sightseeing?" Chris asks, almost dully as he wasn't up for today.

"Sure."

The two stroll around, kicking litter and dirt, watching the wonders of the amusement park world, up ahead a giant Ferris wheel turns in the distance. stretching high into the sky. Slowly and gradually, as they silently walked side by side. After strolling for several minutes, they rest. Christopher finds a comfort in this day as he remembers well when Rose and him dated here, always pulling pranks and tricks until they grew out of it. Then they adopted Sharon where different dramas emerged.

Thomas's phone vibrates again. Another message ordering him to not contact this father. Absurd. Chris couldn't be the father they were after. His daughter died.

"You know, Chris," Thomas ignores the message and stuffs it into his pocket. "I can understand if you're having a hard time here. Moving here and everything. Now there's all these...deaths happening. Suicides and murders. It's unbearable to lose a daughter. I can't even imagine losing my wife." Allison sure wasn't perfect. She was blonde and blue-eyed, but nothing like Christopher. A loving father, pretty much a clean-freak, and his clothes always seemed to be chosen thoughtfully to show off his features.

What was with Gucci, bringing the murders up? Chris wondered. It just reminded him of the kidnappers leaving a trail of bodies, all the victims leading straight to him. It was a good thing he moved far away from family and friends.

"Do you think they're related? I mean, my wife's case and the murders happening?" Chris asks.

"No, there's nothing to support that. Whoever is doing this is almost random, nothing between the victims that are connected. If they were just killing off the women or people with certain backgrounds, but nothing." There was that and the fact that most of these people had direct contact with Christopher. But there's also nothing to support Chris being the murderer.

"Oh, and I almost forgot. Here. Take this. I got this as a gift from... some friend of mine." Thomas takes off his necklace and hands it to him.

It was a metal pendant with embedded designs, its hinges stiff and difficult to open. Chris immediately recognizes this as the mystical pendant made by a group of people, believing it prevented them from being dragged into Hell. All nonsense of course. But with Gucci staring and urging him to put it on, he pulls it around his neck and feeling a calmness wash over him.

"You read my book?" Chris asks, guiltily and then shock, as it held some of his investigations.

"Only a part of it. I don't have time for luxuries like finishing a book. Do you believe in monsters, Chris?" Da Silva gives an angry look. "I'm not joking, do you believe in monsters?" Thomas questions seriously.

"I believe in God, in angels..."

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean something differently."

Gucci couldn't understand the monsters that Chris had to deal with daily.

"Yes." Suddenly feeling isolated among a happy background of jolly masses.

Thomas is watching the sky. "Don't worry. You're not alone. Everybody has to deal with their monsters too. Including me." Thomas also saw the monsters, inhuman people who are capable of commiting such horrendous acts...and that included him. Nobody could feel more despair or guilt that he harboured. Not to mention neglecting the Da Silva case among others, and even falling in love with a victim, someone who he's been ordered again and again not to associate. But he couldn't do that.

Chris looks down, touched by this unusual comfort. Every bad thought he had of Thomas ached his heart. Chris was just using him, going behind his back to spy on a town, and even suspecting him as some bad guy covering up some mass conspiracy. Thomas even read his book and given him a rare gift.

"Thanks."

Suddenly, Chris felt inexplicitly lighter, happier. He didn't even want to read the newspaper, thinking about who might be tailing him, but for the first time in weeks, Chris was able to let go of the thought of the cases and Silent Hill. He smiles and looks at Thomas, behind him bright lights flare in the darkening shadows from thick clouds, music filling all around and smells of foods cooking everywhere. Enthusiasm was spreading.

"Do you want to go on a ride?"

Thomas is almost knocked over by surprise. "Uuh, which one do you want to go on?"

They both are drawn to the slow turning of the Ferris wheel. Yes, Chris thought, I want to see the entire world!

"You're reminding me of somebody." Thomas catches his expression.

Da Silva jumps up and walks ahead, making Gucci stride along until catching up with him. Sure, who on earth is scared of heights? Thomas thought, as he advanced to a gloomy teenager, piercing holes visible and a tired posture as he leans against the railing, looking as if paying he were paying for his own ride to death.

Chris and Thomas are the only two in the carriage, when the door closes, all the amusement park noises are muffled and the ride whirrs and moans as it starts to move. Chris is excited to see the full view from the top, not so much for Thomas as he sat in his seat and trying to think good thoughts.

Gucci glances up at him. He really did feel like this was love. Just move in closer, Chris, he thought, show me your wonderful smile just for me, just be mine if only for a while. He's about to get up when they feel a slight jolt, just a mild swing from the ride, making him not want to move an inch.

"You could read your paper, now, Chris." He says after a while.

Christopher eyes him. Did he have to bring it up?

"Sure." He says as he uncrumples the paper and smooths it out.

"That girl you wanted to know about, Claudia Wolf, she was a student at Midwich High in Silent Hill. Just a regular kid, I guess. But unfortunately, after the fire she died. Disappeared, along with all the other missing bodies."

Looking thoughtfully, Chris looks down back at the newspaper and reads it:

_**The Good Shepherd**_

_**Girl's Competition Finals Tonight**_

_Tonight is the finals for the first time ever females competition "Friendly Stories, Poems, and Essays Challenge", hosted by the schools in Shepherd's Glen and Silent Hill._

_"Everybody is excited about the finals," Stated a teacher from the rival school, Midwich High. "It'll be the first time for the students and the other staffs are sure this would be life-changing event."_

_Referring to the only school hosted challenge that allows female students to participate. When asked why for the reason for this unusual event, he answers, "To encourage them to care for their grades more." According to sources, on the fault of the female population that makes up a large percentage of students, surveys has indicated a decline in school marks._

_This is a weeklong challenge hosted four times a week, four teams from each school leading with their own little superstars, including: Alessa Gillespie, Baillie Hatch, Claudia Wolf-_

And it goes on with previous delays by students and even mentioning rumours concerning the mental stability of the little girl, Claudia. The rest is illegable.

"This is the only mention of her?" Chris holds it up.

"Yes." Thomas confirms.

So they were dead; Alessa Gillespie and Claudia Wolf. Why would Rose send him on a wild goose hunt? Why give him a name of a dead girl? So far, all that he had just figured out is that Gillespie and Wolf attended the same school.

"Do you think she's still alive, living in Silent Hill perhaps?" Chris asks.

Thomas has to give this some thought. He was sure that call came from Silent Hill as that's where he made the most contact with them physically. And that girl..."Yes, I do."

The paper mentioned, although unlikely due to the sexist nature of the newspaper, a question of mental stability on Wolf, so what if she was still living in Silent Hill and kidnapping people? Surely a survivor such as Sharon would threaten the existence of her presence.

Thomas's phone rings.

"Yes?"

"Officer Gucci..." A woman's voice with an English accent.

His eyes widen to the shock of hearing his messenger's voice and he snaps his head up to see Chris watching.

"Alessa?" Thomas breathlessly asks.

Gillespie? Chris thinks, tensing and listening carefully.

"No, I am Claudia Wolf. Now let me speak to the husband, Da Silva. I have a proposition for him."


	8. Chapter 7

"No." Thomas stands his ground. "He's not the one. His daughter died."

"Who is it? Give it to me!" Chris dives for the phone, and before Thomas could react, Chris was already holding it to his ear.

"I'm being stalked, aren't I?" Chris asks, to the shock of Thomas. "You kidnapped my family and now you want to kill us all!"

"You're right. We now have your daughter to kill at this very moment."

"Dad!" A little voice is heard in the background. "Daddy! Help me!"

Chris collapses to the floor and holds his breath. "Don't talk to them!" He yells for Sharon to hear.

"I am giving you the chance to die with her, the very least I could do for someone who took such good care of my sister." Claudia says lightly.

"Shut the hell up, you bastards! If you lay one hand on her-" Thomas has to hold Chris down so he wouldn't shake the car too much.

"Come to Silent Hill. Don't bother with the police. They won't find anything here, and then you'll never see her again."

A click then dead tone. Chris bursts into tears, everything seems to go wrong. It must have been that babysitter who betrayed his trust, the only one with Sharon at the time. Claudia has his daughter captive in Silent Hill, now he knew exactly what to do.

Gucci lays one hand on his shoulder, "Chris... are you-" The carriage rocks as the ride screeches to a stop.

Chris runs for his vehicle fumbling with his car keys, a vehicle passes by slowly as Chris eyes it suspiciously. Into the early hours of morning, the doctor begins running for it, not wanting to waste another moment in the parking lot.

"Great." Thomas swears under his breath, panting and visibly distressed as he paces aimlessly and combing his hair.

The husband was too far ahead, the parking lot already swarming with visitors. He rushes to his car and after checking his pockets he realizes his keys were missing. Must've dropped it. His hand fell upon the old cellphone, startling him when it rings. "...Uh, yes? Hello?" He mumbles impatiently.

"Leave the husband. He's not your concern, never was." A deep voice warns him, almost threatening.

Christopher's mind raced with all kinds of thoughts as the world whizzed by: Rose's disappearance, leaving with her his heart and soul; all the evidence he collected; and then the meal that he just couldn't have waited a few seconds to admire. He knew he was neglective before, but hasn't he tried to make up for it all this time?

Chris had amazingly reached his house. Black, ominous clouds form behind the building, a freezing rain pounds as Chris runs inside. He snatches his backpack and stuffs it with his precious laptop and a few weapons to use. It wasn't until he got to the door when he stopped for just a few seconds and caught his breath. He looks back at the dusty shelf with the untouched cellphone, where only a few days before he had received a message from Rose.

The door sends an echoing creak as Chris closes the door, a look of somber acceptance on his face.

* * *

It was raining hard now, the amusement park closed early, the streets now empty and cold. Thomas calls for a patrol car, he goes through the police frequencies then finds an urgent report call.

"An anomynous call just came in of a possible kidnapping and murder. Street-"

Thomas desperately shifts the car and races to the address while trying to reach Chris, he was not answering. He punches in the numbers again.

"Come on! Pick up the god damn phone!" Thomas yells exasperated, rain pounding his car and distorting his windshield.

He switches on the wipers and speeds up. He knew Chris was going to do something stupid after receiving that phone call from Claudia Wolf, somebody he had never heard of before but held connection with Silent Hill. So she was the one always killing trespassers and forcing him to hide their bodies. And all this time he suspected it might've been Alessa because of their identical backgrounds.

Thomas swerves to make the red light, barely missing a pedestrian. Before he knew it, gravity lost its weight and he was floating, glass sprinkling on him, and an explosion in front. He's crushed against the steering wheel, the vehicle jammed into a pole. Confused and dazed, Thomas unbuckles and stumbles out the door where blurred visions of people crowd around. He was bleeding and now his best chance at catching up with Da Silva evaporates.

"Are you okay? Oh, god. Somebody call an ambulance!" A girl tears her sleeve and wraps it around Thomas's head, her umbrella hovering over their heads.

"I'm fine." Thomas answers, he listens for the police scanner.

"A man matching the description of Christopher Da Silva was just seen near his home. Possibly planning to hide out in his house. Send a car-"

"I need a vehicle, any mode of transportation. This is urgent!" Thomas stumbles to get up.

"It's all right. An ambulance was already called. Just wait here. You've got a head trauma." The same girl holds his shoulders to sit him down.

He whips out his badge. "I am an officer of the law and I demand to be released."

"Look, you're injured-"

But before anyone could make sense of the scene, Thomas sprints away and catches a cab, driving off to Da Silva's house, hopefully he was gonna make it.

By the time Thomas reaches the street, he spots a police car disappearing towards the row of houses. And there it was, the patrol car parked in front of Da Silva's address. When he gets out, Thomas is already soaking wet.

"Stay here." He orders the cab driver and runs in.

Inside the home is creepily dark and grim and the sight of the open bedroom door spilling out a golden glow out into the grey hall supports the atmosphere of a murder mystery film.

An older police man is standing near the front entrance inside, on his chin a radio in which he's calling in new information.

"Send a couple of guys here with the search warrant. I think we got ourselves a psycho."

"What's going on?" Thomas walks cautiously, still dripping and bleeding.

"Holy crap, what happened to your face?" The man looks him up and down.

"Just tell me what happened. Where's the man you were looking for?"

The older police officer leads him in, dim lights buzzing, inside shows a very disorganized place making it look robbed. Thomas is led into the bedroom: pinned and taped to the walls are excessive amounts of maps trailed with pictures and newspaper articles; the shelves are nothing but supernatural books, a few on demonic rituals and cults in the middle Americas.

"I tell ya, a mental criminal on the run. See the evidence now? I'll bet you this is enough to get that murdering sicko off the streets. Even stole a few police documents and medical files." He points to two open containers balancing on the edge of the bed, crumpled blankets half covering them. "I've already called the station. They're looking for him now."

"You searched the house already?"

"What? No. It was already like that when we came. Looks like somebody took the entire contents from one of the boxes with them."

"Who was that anonymous caller?" Thomas chokes.

"Don't know. It was an anonymous call...a young female. Right choice she made. This guy must be dangerous by the looks of things, freaky obsessive, and there's a whole bunch about his wife and daughter in here." He goes on to slide open the closet, pictures of Rose and Sharon are posted on the walls with children possessions littering the floor. "Even made some kind of shrine for them. You think he killed them for some kind of ritualistic sacrifice?"

Thomas kneels on the floor, looking inside, absorbing all that was happening. He looks at the picture of Sharon, now with red hair...Alessa couldn't possibly had a child. Was Sharon just some ordinary kid? Something is sticking out from underneath the mattress. Thomas is shocked at what he finds hidden: piles of papers with scratched out names, names of all the victims in Brahams and other unsolved cases. The messengers were superstitious folks, believed in devils and gods, he had a moments thought of it once but he never once believed it could possibly...His phone rings.

"We can explain. You were never meant to figure it all out." His messenger. "The little girl was meant to die. But against all odds she lived. She lived."

"Tell me everything. Now." Thomas presses the phone hard against his ear to hear every breath and pause, glancing around the room to see the true amount of effort Chris put forth for his family.

And before clambering and racing out of the house, the last thing he's told is, "She is the devil."

Thomas knew if Chris was going to Silent Hill, he'd need a car. Returning to the closed amusement park and into the parking lot, he sees a figure struggling with a door resembling Da Silva's car. He exits and the cab leaves.

"Chris? Don't be an idiot and stay. What's so important over in that town anyways?" Thomas yells over the pattering rain and wind.

"Leave me alone, I have to save her. She's the only family I got left." Chris adjusts his backpack strap and successfully unlocks his door.

They both tense and whip their heads around when they hear the blaring police siren and flashing lights down the street. Now Thomas felt a confliction: if he stopped Chris, he'd be arrested and spend life in prison, and if he allows Chris to go, he'd die and his body never recovered. Right now, he didn't give a damn about the rules and wanted to save Chris from certain death. The messengers may care about someone figuring out their secret, but Gucci cared about the result of trespassing. Death.

For a moment, they're both still, watching the cruiser pass. Chris could barely hold back about what he knew about Silent Hill, the history of missing cases, cults that still lived there making their way to Brahams. He couldn't trust this guy. Angrily, he opens his door and throws in his pack. Thomas doesn't have any other choice, he tried his argument. Gucci lunges for the man, pinning him down on the hood. Chris struggles but is unable to move.

"I'm not letting you go! She is not worth it, okay? She is long gone, never coming back! When can you accept that, Christopher?!"

"Because I love her, I've got to try." He screams back, only the thunder outmatches the rage and madness.

"Rose, is dead and long gone! I could help you escape, Chris...don't risk your life just because of Claudia."

"You don't know anything! I know my wife is dead!", he pauses for a moment, "But... I can still save-"  
"Save your wife? By what? Bringing her back to life? Selling your soul?! That's not gonna cut it, Chris. That's absolutely no reason to be going mad over this stupid, idiotic dream, dreams made by a bunch of fanatics! Listen to me, if you go, you die. Is that what you want?"

He knew his heart pounded, his mind raced whenever he met him. Thomas felt like this was love.

Thomas couldn't see nor ever know his pain, Chris's eyes welling up with tears, his breathing hollow and difficult. Was getting revenge worth this much to him? He would die whether he goes or not. Another blinding flash gives Chris a chance to pathetically shove Gucci away, taking a step further away, ready for a death match. One moment, then another, Gucci then watched Chris run away, far away. The officer falls on his knees, the wet pavement splashes as he drops his gun.

* * *

The rain lets up and the clouds break but the highway is still slick with rain, slowing down Christopher considerably, but his mind is elsewhere, thinking of the many scenarios that might happen, any circumstances that lay ahead, his final obstacle. He knew that when he reaches Silent Hill, that is where the ending lies, the great conclusion to this story. Even with his daughter's life in danger, he still took his stupid laptop with his manuscript, detailing which didn't matter anymore.

Rose was gone, Sharon was here, nothing should have stopped him from living his life.

Chris studies the road and speeds up, draining more gas for wind resistance, but he knew he'd have to waste precious minutes filling up anyways. By the time he knew it, Silent Hill is in sight with the all too familiar gate. He crashes through it, slowing down very soon afterwards for the sharp turns ending with steep cliffs.

"Where are you, Sharon?" Chris sighs and searches the streets for any sign of life: the roads and streets have a thin mist from the coal fire underneath, toxic for humans if exposed long enough; trash, abandoned cars and objects clutter the road; and all the buildings have an eerie empty and looming feeling, trapping him in with his daughter.

Then there up ahead is a woman, clad in blue with flowing yellow hair, the background making her look skinny and pale. Claudia Wolf.

Christopher slows to a complete halt, his hands clutched tightly onto the steering wheel, peering through his fogged windshield to see a young woman standing eerily still, waiting. Her surroundings were darkening, perhaps the clouds, and the inside of the car seemed to burn him, having to suck in the air that was becoming scarce until he had to open the door to face her.

The smell stings his nose and eyes so that he has to cough and take a moment to dry his eyes.

"You're a suicidal man, Mr. Da Silva." She pulls her head back and forces back a hysterical giggle, her icey eyes pierces through him, sending a shiver up his spine.

"What do you want with my daughter?" He keeps one eye on his weapons hiding on his car floor. "You tell me where the hell she is, Alessa." Did she come back to haunt Silent Hill?

"Alessa?" Now she combs her stringy hair back, an expression of flattery. "I'm afraid I am not she. She is my friend, my sister...but that is not the matter at hand. Alessa was the Devil. She is able to do many things, some without even realizing it. She and anyone associated with her is evil so I must cleanse this world of anything impure. Now she is in your daughter.

He grunts impatiently and spaces himself from the car. "You're the one that took her, so where is she? I swear that she's not Alessa or her daughter. Just give her back to me." Chris says, almost revealing his emotions.

"Your daughter, she was sick when your wife brought her here to be cured. _They_ tried to cure her in their own way, the people who kidnapped your family. Not me of course. But I did take over from there."

His heart sank at the mention of the accident that he tried for so long to forget, and just when he finally found some closure. He waits for Claudia to expand upon the topic, to find out more about what happened that day that he felt Gucci neglected to tell.

"Ahh, now I have your attention. You know that they fled to Silent Hill after being chased by a cop, and near town was where they crashed. Their bodies were never found. Ever since then we've been trying to track you down."

"You were killing people just to find me?" Chris asks, realizing the full extent of their obsession these people had.

"The great Braham's killing spree? Of course not. We were simply following a trail of bread crumbs to your house that the Demon left behind."

This woman is delusional, a murderer! All those cults from Silent Hill were true, Chris thought, he just never thought they survived the fire or even lived today. It just seemed too impossible, too much to take in.

Claudia Wolf had kidnapped and killed his family, and now here she was to finish the job, a fanatic who believed in demons and was willing to end the life of a stranger and an innocent child.

Then in a cry of anger, Chris lunges for his bag and manages to slide a butcher knife through, slicing his wrist by accident, then shaking with such anger he has to hold it steady with two hands, pointing it towards that woman.

She doesn't move an inch, her face frozen into an expressionless mask, her pose always with a proper posture and hands in front, as if in constant prayer. "Tell me where the hell is Sharon! Or I swear to God-"

"You swear? You would swear to your God of killing another human being? Now, now Chris. Let's not get irrational. This world is falling apart and I'm the only one left able to 'help' these people." Her expressions and voice indicate her sincerity, so could she really be crazy? "Unfortunately, my rival friends couldn't even finish purifying that woman and child, ultimately leading to their escape. Now I have you two left to purify to redeem your soul and hers."

"You're crazy!" Chris shouts out in frustration. "There's no reason, NO REASON, for you to hurt them! They were my family, you bitch!" Then in a moment, Chris is in front of the startled woman, pulling his hand in one swift motion and the unexpected impact causing him to lose his grip.

The knife lands with a metallic clang accompanied by Claudia's sharp cry. Under her are blotches of blood as she swaggers a few meters behind unsteadily, clutching her armpit. Chris watches horrifically as she studies her hand then whips her head up, her face contorted and her voice hoarse.

"How dare you, Da Silva. I shall enjoy witnessing your slow, torturous death!" She seethes, clawing at her chest as a small pool of blood forms.

* * *

"Christopher!" Thomas Gucci cups his hands and shouts, listening to it echo off the littered streets and desolate buildings, repeating his name over and over with desperation.

Damn you, Chris, he thought, abandoning me for a dead wife. I fed your little obsession, helped protect you from all the evils, but you brushed it all off to save somebody you possibly couldn't.

After all these years, Thomas's first time really caring for a victim of Silent Hill and it happened to Chris twice.

If he heard anyone it should be Da Silva, for he has never seen the cult in view before, and the drug dealers held their business on the other side of town. He listens carefully. His patrol car is open behind him, pouring out statics of a woman's voice as he dialed Christopher's number to no avail.

"Tommy..."

Thomas hears his name being called but nobody is in sight, a familiar tune sweeps the air. It must be Da Silva, he told himself. He follows the music into the next street, in front of an ashen stained barber shop.

"Tommy..." the voice echoes again.

Gucci catches a figure moving inside the shop, in a rush he bursts in there.

Then before his very eyes, his feet shakes under the transforming shop, the lights flickering on and debris and ash disappearing to a more magnificent and grand looking room, in the corner a jukebox plays an old time tune. In the middle of the room is his father, his dark hair slicked back old-fashionably, wearing an apron and holding hair clippers. He smiles at him.

"Tommy, what are you doing? Come on here, sit down. Your mother wouldn't want you to look like that, now would she?" He gestures for him to come sit.

Thomas shakes his head and steps back, unable to utter a sound, then looking down at his own hands, he's astonished to find it tiny and weak. Replacing his civilian clothes and coat was a child's striped t-shirt and shorts, he was now in the body of a small child.

What was happening, why was his father here and why was he a kid again? It must have been the fumes poisoning his mind and causing this hallucination.

Then suddenly, his father unexpectedly swings him into his huge arms, cradling him, and carries him to a chair. He stays limp in his strong arms, couldn't struggle free even if he tried, and leans his head on his broad chest, hearing his quick heartbeat. He was so small now. His father then gently sits him down on a chair then goes on to trim his long, silky hair. Both their features were identical, same hair, blue eyes, it was clear that they were related. But the elder Gucci had died years ago...

"Dad." Thomas's voice comes out as weak and tiny, his voice could hardly be heard.

"Now, don't complain. We're having a big dinner tonight and your mother wants you to look your best. Remember, I have to get a haircut too." He says, always with assertiveness but softly.

He stares intently at the reflection of his baby self and his exceedingly handsome father. Just what was happening here? Thomas never remembered having dinner with both his parents. What age was he right now? Too young to have any recollection of it, he guessed. "There." His father finishes and removes the white blanket off of him. He couldn't help but blush as his father admired his work.

"Aren't you a handsome little boy? All the girls are going to go running after you."

Then in an instant, he replies, "To blonde hair and blue eyes, right?" Thomas sounds innocent, but in his heart he says in an accusing tone. Now he remembered. His father was the reason why he never attended church and was practically forced to join the police force and why he was intent on marrying Allison, in pursuing Christopher.

His father loses his warmth as he frowns. "Of course, do I have to repeat myself? What else have you forgotten?" He steps forward threateningly and shakes the chair.

Even though Thomas didn't want to feel intimidated or show it, he flinches and stares frightfully at his father. Then in an instant his father backs off, appearing shocked at himself as he glances down with remorse at his small son.

"I'm so sorry, Toms." Thomas's father almost breaks down in tears, holding his small shoulders before wrapping him in his arms in a tight embrace. "We're not the greatest family but try to understand, understand that I'm only doing this to help you live a happier life. Things are going to change for you, for me, everybody, and I just want you to be ready for it."

Change...People now days are so obsessed with appearance, they buy products worth hundreds of dollars, they glamourize their ideal image of beauty above all else, and just as it was centuries ago, social status meant everything.

"Just promise me one thing, Tommy, promise me this one thing even after my death: think of someone else before yourself." An obvious command, coming from his father, to gain a good reputation and social life.

"Okay." Thomas hears a voice answer, the voice of the child, of himself.

The son tears up, stinging Thomas's eyes as well, as his father continued to squeeze him passionately before his huge arms ceases.

Thomas finds himself kneeling in the middle of the old barber shop, his cheeks wet with tears, everything now gone. He never remembered that conversation ever taking place, but a vivid hallucination that helped him realize his most rooted problem.

Years ago, when Thomas Gucci was just a rookie starting out in the police force, he never thought about taking the career seriously until the case of Alessa Gillespie took place. Just a little girl that he actually saw in the news a few times -once with a Claudia Wolf- in the Silent Hill Gazette and once in the Good Shepherd. Most of the people who attended their school had English accents and so after the Gillespie case, years later when he moved to the next town and was plagued by nightmares of those days of the fires, he received calls from a woman that would be the same age as...her. The same age and that accent, those very characteristics haunted him. Could it be Alessa?

"No..." Gucci sits on the chair and sighs deeply. What a fool he was. "It was Claudia. If only she told me-" He thinks aloud. If only Claudia had told me her name I wouldn't have doubted her a second with the missions, if they had mutual respect enough for trust to be in their relationship. Her fear of him tracking her down and quitting his job was what prevented it. If only. Then he wouldn't have let it come this far as to falling for a victim and letting him run blindly into danger. Perhaps he would have even killed Christopher Da Silva himself. Not out of cold orders, but of human desire to allow this tragic man to die peacefully, even if he didn't fall madly in love with him.

Sitting silently in thought, Gucci hears the same tune drifting away, the beat turning sharp and clear now sounding more and more like a beeping heart monitor. Feeling the cold doorknob of the large door, he tries to see through the frozen shut windows, he then swings it wide open. The air is frigid cold and where the streets should have been is another room, a hospital room with an older man lying still on the metallic bed. It was his father again but aged decades more.

This scene had actually taken place a few years ago. Thomas has stepped into a hospital, he now hears the usual background of wheels squeaking in corridors with strong chemical smells accompanied by the ever present gloom of being in a hospital setting. Behind the door, nurses and equipment fill the halls, the sounds muffling into the room

"Tommy?" The man pries open his eyes, coughing.

His father's once beautiful black hair was now grey, his face stressed with wrinkles and his warm smile was never to be recovered. He raises his hands and hovers it over towards the door, wanting for his son to grab and hold his hands but Thomas flinches and avoids looking at it, backing into a corner and crashing into medical equipment.

"NOO!" He covers his face and backs up against the wall. No, no, this wasn't real, it can't be, Thomas steps back and unsuccessfully rattles the doorknob. It was locked or broken.

"Come, son..." His head drops back down on the pillow, feeling lightheaded and weak from the drugs, but he still stubbornly held out his hands with tears streaming down. "I'm dying."

"No, no, no." Thomas sobs and shudders.

But in a change of heart, Thomas stands solemnly and takes heavy steps to his dying father's bedside, peering down at a dead man before clasping his freezing hands.

"BBBZZZZD" The announcer interrupts. "Brookhaven Hospital would like to wish you all a happy holiday."

Yes, this was Brookhaven, the hospital where he had to watch his father slowly rot away from the inside in an insane asylum. Why was his hands so cold? His hands were perfectly okay, blemishes and popping veins, a beautifully aged hand with no burns from the fire, nor any damage on any part of his body. That's what happens when you're able to escape a fire to the price of others dying...That fire _did_ killed his father, awoken the demons that had hidden inside of him until he eventually met his end as a madman. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

"Don't go." The elder Gucci pants, lolling his head on one side to the other, loosening his grasp.

"I'm not going anywhere."

His inevitable doom waits mere minutes away. Why hallucinate about this moment? He remembers it clearly.

"No more stories of the creatures you saw in the fire?" He dryly jokes.

He doesn't answer. His eyes are glassy and still, he no longer shifted his attention this way and that. Thomas gently pulls his father's hands, so cold, only to rock a dead body.

Inside the room only a piercing flat line echoes. The visions that seemed so vivid didn't matter anymore to Thomas. He idly stands before sitting down on the bed. Sitting closely to him, Thomas gently holds his father's head and rests it on his shoulders, wrapping his arms around the older man's shoulders, hugging the cold corpse of his insane father. It lost its warmth he felt as a child, no more heartbeat, nothing more. He pulls up the blanket to see shackles broken free from the frail ankles and wrists, something that wouldn't have really happened during his death

For so long, Thomas had been ashamed of his father's last days and told himself over and over that he had died from the result of the fire. And that wasn't a lie.

Gucci had more than willingly helped Claudia just so she could stop all that bloodshed, just turning a blind eye so he could continue on living knowing he was doing the right thing, only in the end to know exactly what it must have felt like to be that person on the other side of the line of this business.

Now he knew what Da Silva must have felt for all those months after his family's incident. Every day he wanted his dear dad to return from a town that took him, his mind, and ever since then he's been helplessly lost and following orders from others. Chris must have been so alone and confused, asking for his family that Silent Hill took. Everbody, every single person always told Christpoher to just let it go.

The hospital was gone, so was his father...He's been so focused on death for so long he forgot about living.

Looking up, he sees the ceiling open up to the sky and watches the clouds slowly make their way across. Thomas stands upright just when another breeze refreshes his sweaty body, weak and utterly exhausted for all these years, and for the first time since, Thomas left his mind a complete blank letting go of all the bad things in the world for a moment of calming peace.

I swear, Thomas thought, Allison, I'm going to kiss you the first thing I do when I see you. Suddenly, two sharp sounds, loudly echoing down the streets returning him back to reality. He hears it again, now resembling more like gunshots. The next moment he feels a numbing pain and the sight of the ground rushing to his face. He now layed in a pool of blood listening to the soothing sound his father's shop.


	9. Chapter 8

Chris feels another chill crawl up his spine, seeing the very world alter and warp into a furnace, fumes choking out oxygen and creating bubbling puddles. A shrieking siren slices the air and deafens his ears, in between the pauses he hears ringing in his ears. Oh, God, oh, God, Chris hyperventilates and thought, this is hell! I'm in Hell!

"You see now, Christopher Da Silva! This is where your life ends. No matter where you go, I will find you and your daughter. You cannot escape me, your ultimate death, or the hell that awaits you!" She lets out a loud laugh, slouching wearily and nearly collapsing onto the metal gratings that now replaced the gravel road.

Chris sprints back to his car before tripping on a beam, rolling across the sizzling metal and landing in an opening where it wheezed a blast of hot air. Screaming, he rolls off to the side, patting violently at his stomach and gasping for air. It feels like he's run thirty miles without rest and it was only getting worse, his knee wobbly and legs trembling and feeling like it was rubber, and his lungs burning, spasming for more oxygen.

For a moment he blacks out, feeling vertigo as he glances this way and that, all the buildings stretching over him with metal teeth, the sky completely black, his car's high beams acting like a lighthouse for lost sailors.

He blinks. Now he sees the bright blue sky and a cool breeze caresses the sweat steaming on his head and clothes. But now everything turns black, and all his senses ceases.

Rusted creaks boom every now and then, steams whistling from the distance and behind, the soft hum of the engine still running. Somewhere in the darkness were several raspy breaths, maybe Claudia struggling to walk, though she was too far behind him. A low cough seems to come from near the car in front of him, but he wasn't sure.

Frantically, Chris rubs his eyes and turns blindly in every direction with no sight of a single ray of light. He pauses. Chris cries softly, whimpering helplessly as he feels his way slowly and carefully, half stumbling and half crawling. He could hear someone choking, gurgling profusely as they struggled to get the same air he wished he could have. And the closer he struggled to hear the engine, the more clearly he could hear the gulping of fluids and choked cry of a man.

"HELP ME!" A wet grip claws at Chris's knee.

His startled cry explodes in the complete darkness, panting and sobbing uncontrollably as he forces his jellied legs to sprint when he bangs into the side view mirror, smashing against the side of the vehicle and onto the ground. Crawling pathetically, he manages to get inside and lock the doors in the suffocating oven, he turns the ignition. But it stalls, so he tries again. He could hear more gurgling along with moans banging on the car, pleading and begging for help.

"God, help me!" Chris prays, pressing his head against the steering wheel, shaking violently as the banging continued and the tortured sounds rang in his ears. Unintentionally, he twirls the chain of the locket, clutching the mystical pendant so hard his hands became numb. He prayed, hoping anything would save him from this place. Monstrous faces and ghosly apparitions appeared in his vision as it returned.

Then the engine roared back to life.

* * *

A dozen robed figures with medallions hung about their necks came forth, walking in an orderly fashion of twos.

It is evening, the sun now gone, the mists fills the garbage strewn streets, all empty but for a running car and a figure lying motionless on the road. Claudia's breathing was barely detectable, her eyes sunken, her long blonde hair and slender hands stained with blood. An elderly man holds her head on his lap, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat and dirt off her face, gently rocking and humming a lullaby. A hand squeezes his shoulder. He looks up, the old man's face wrinkling with a sour expression, stubborn, but holds his head high and back straight.

"If she had come to us, she would have foreseen all this, she must suffer the consequences. Sister Claudia should not have left without consultation. It is all in her hands."

A man, his face hidden behind a mask, nods and reveals a ceremonial dagger, an intricate design carved into the handle with a sparkling metal blade.

"I may not be as knowledgeable as you on the subject," The old man looks back down to Claudia, ceasing his rocking and humming, and looking disconnected. "But I do know that this is not meant to be. Claudia must live."

Though appearing sure of himself, the sight of the dagger lures his gaze, until he takes it with steady hands and a strained look to hold back whatever he was feeling. Then to everyone's surprise, just as the dagger was placed above her to strike her heart, her hand shoots up and grips the old man's fist, nearly killing herself.

"What happened?" She coughs, her icy blue eyes lazy but her voice trembling with anger.

"You're dead now, Claudia. After all your hard work, tell me, where is the husband, where is the child?"

The man holding her says weakly, peering down at her with pity. "The young one had escaped once again and the husband is nowhere to be seen. You failed us."

The other men continues. "After you left without consent to confront Da Silva, the young child had somehow escaped, with a guard at every entrance. Some remember nothing, others tell of some tale of being knocked out by a great wind."

"None of this would have happened if you had been properly prepared first. We cannot continue this way, losing every important piece of the game and act as if it's of no importance." Another man remarks.

"But-" Claudia winces and gasps, her wound opening up again. "But I have done nothing wrong." She looks up desperately at the masked men, all of whom could certainly do without her and her powers. She gulps and shudders, feeling cold and faint. Then before her eyes, a vision appears an address and two people glowing in a dull background of crowds of people. "I can find them."

"You better hope you're right this time, Claudia. Next time you won't get another chance." All the men leave. Claudia and the old man sit together in the middle of the road, slowly everything turns back into the thick fog and the desolate world of Silent Hill returns.

* * *

Chris's vision is distorted, about to go out any moment. He sees a large monstrous form crushing vehicles and smashing poles with its large clawed hands, roaring so loud it makes his ears ring.

But for some reason, it seems to struggle as it crawled stubbornly to Chris, swinging its arms wildly and becoming more violent as it came closer.

"Run, run." The monster seems to be saying, though it's just roaring.

Then everything blacks out for good.

Sharon's laughter and the soft hum of the engine gently nudges Christopher awake, His forehead has dents from the steering wheel and knuckles, his clothes stiff and stained with rust, and his entire body aching as he gets out. Stretching outside and taking deep breathes, rubbing his eyes until the darkness caught a glimpse of a silver spotlight on the road, his high beams. His car intensely lights the road, the area faded into pitch blackness with steep cliffs, its as if there wasn't a world outside his car.

Chris holds back a chuckle, until finally he's bursting out in uncontrollable laughter, kneeling over and touching the cold pavement. Looking up, he sees the silver moon, and far away, a blue wash of distant buildings.

"Daddy?" Sharon pokes her head from behind the open door, her face instantly brightens up, running and jumping on him.

"Sharon?" She wraps her arms tightly around his neck making them both fall over onto the wet ground.

Laughter erupts and disturbs the otherwise calm night. Tears stream down Chris's face until he's left sobbing in his arms.

He couldn't believe all this had happened. Claudia's body was gone, the world looks normal again, and against all odds he had found Sharon again. Rose didn't even come to mind as he hugged his daughter. Clutching his necklace, fully knowing they would never return back to that place, this town, or even this state ever again.

"Where are we, daddy? Did vacation end while I was taking my nap? Did mommy had to go?" Sharon, her clothes and face dirty, her red hair messy, though she acted like everything was normal.

Chris stares at her for a long while before asking, "When did you see her last?"

She gives a questioning look. "Before that time I walked outside last night, while I was asleep. You and mom were angry with me and made me take that yucky medicine again." She makes a disgusted expression, as if she could taste it right now.

"Do you remember going to that new school of yours, your babysitter, what about our new home?" He asks.

Her eyes light up with wonder. "How did you know my dream?"

Chris walks back to the car, holding Sharon closely as she rests her head on his shoulders, then he looks up to the starry sky. It was so dark, so cold, and he had never felt more isolated than in this god forsaken town carrying his little girl to an unknown future.

Neither makes a sound, silent in their thoughts as Chris contemplated with this new twist.

He whispers, "Let's go home."

* * *

Though it is morning the graveyard is dark, storm clouds smother out the last remaining sunlight. But a cool haze sets the calm atmosphere as a light snowfall sprinkles onto a mourning crowd who surround a decorated grave.

The wife of the departed stands silently, peering down as wet dirt pounds onto the coffin. She wears her dress and matching black hat and slippers, her hair fixed neatly to wide, loose braids resting down one side. She is properly dressed. She is Allision Gucci.

There are friends, family members, two of her daughters, and police officers who all attended to show their respect. Allison studies the scene and notices a few strangers she doesn't recognize, perhaps grateful families of victims showing their respect.

One stranger with red hair and green eyes quickly throws in a small piece of paper, it flutters briefly before peacefully landing. Before long, the letters and flowers are buried forever.

Allison's eyes are dry, her voice calm, her face almost emotionless. When the note is entirely covered, she turns to the young woman."Excuse me, but what was that you just threw in?" The young woman's eyes widen, as a kind of speechless appreciation seeped through to express itself externally, her face suddenly cringes with a refrained cry. Shuddering, she finds herself, and then lifts her head high to recite what has been repeated so many times in her heart.

"Thomas Gucci, I wished that we had known each other under more better circumstances. I've wanted to let you know that for so many years I've wanted to thank you. Thank you. With forever gratitude, Stori."

Allison nods her head and allows the former Stori to weep for a long awaited letter that was never sent.

A young woman lifts her hat but lets it hang limply by her side, her hair jet black and eyes a shining blue, the young officer makes her way around to the widow and places a hand gently on Allison's shoulder.

"It's okay to cry, Miss Gucci." Amanda gently says, they both look down to the tombstone:

_**RIP **_

_Son of Richard and Ilsa Gucci:_

_Thomas Gucci_

_A Loving Father and Husband_

_May he rest in peace._

The snow continues to fall as evening arrives, the cries now nothing more than a memory. Soon, the lonely figures of Allison and Amanda are left standing silently, his grave connected to smaller tombstones with as much age as the officer. As Amanda's red eyes subside, Allison still remains stiff and emotionless.

She then she breaks the silence. "You said it's okay to cry...?"

Amanda looks up to see her black hat covering her face, the blue snow and black background bringing a sort of dark and tragic beauty about her. "Yes, ma'am."

Allison looks up at her with questioning eyes, her mouth slightly open, her face revealed through the brim of her laced hat, exposing every hint of expression she unintentionally gave. "That's what my husband always said to me." She quickly looks away, taking a moment before finding the strength to continue. "I loved him, God knows I did. But I never shed a tear, same with him. We both just hid and forget all our problems away like a scratched disk or old jukebox. We never even tried to talk things over."

Amanda pulls a hand over her hair and combs it. "Ma'am-"

Then in a luring gaze locking both their eyes, Amanda is speechless as Allison stares unsteadily at her from under her hat, a faint glitter streaming down her cheeks.

"You would look exactly like his daughter," She says, shaking her head slowly. "So much like her."

Then her focus wanders back down to their feet to her husband's grave, her blue eyes now glassy but her face frozen expressionless as she leaves, hesitantly making her way back.

Left behind, the officer looks uncertain as she watches Mrs. Gucci stumble further away and disappear from view, never be seen again by the young woman.

* * *

Amanda had just come from Thomas Gucci's funeral. She was silently sobbing in an unlit office, The young officer's coat was wide open revealing her tell-tale rookie uniform, her hair soaked and matted to her forehead.

The office was emptied of Gucci's belongings and work supplies, his desk and walls bare, the only thing in this room are a few boxes of photographs that has yet to be touched. One is a beautiful picture of the Guccis, Thomas hugging Allison as she held her stomach. They were at some small resort at their first honeymoon, both young and happy with a sun setting behind them.

Amanda still remembered crying openly and being comforted by that man, feeling as if he was the father she never had. She tried her damn hardest to impress him, to show Gucci she could do whatever he did, already studying to be a detective just like him.

The blinds are wide open, the windows propped open slightly and bringing in a cold draft.

"Gucci?" She says, talking to nobody. "I got your case right here." Beside the desk is a file. "I solved it. The Brahams murder spree case. It wouldn't make much sense, though, considering she was only nine." She chuckles, tears running down her cheeks.

Amanda sniffs and shudders again. Then somewhere in the dimness her phone rings.

"Yes?" She slouches and wipes her nose.

"Is this Amanda?" A young woman's voice inquires, slow and clear, giving an air of superiority.

"This is her." She sits up straight, an expression of curiosity.

"Good," Her tone flat and serious with an English accent. "I'm afraid you're going to have to know my name: Claudia Wolf. We suddenly have a job opening."

She remains silent. Did this "job opening" have something to do with Gucci's death...?

Then rather suddenly, the woman on the other end of the line asks, "Would you like to work for me?"

* * *

Nobody has spotted or reported seeing the Da Silvas for weeks now, their house in Brahams lay quietly down the street, inside is cold and dark; the television set rests unused in Christopher's bedroom, the food spoiled in the large kitchen, while all around are police tapes and number markers placed on the floor. And something that the investigators have somehow overlooked is a letter, neatly folded on the kitchen counter whose name should have greatly interested them. It is stained with tear drops and splotches of blood.

_Dear Christopher,_

_Where are you? I've been waiting and waiting for your response. Are you that angry with me? Sad? I don't know but I hope you'll forgive me. Forgive me. I don't know how many times to ask you. How many times do I have to say that our daughter is safe? That I'm here now for you? That I love you?_

_Well, I'm here now. I'll be waiting, watching for you, helping you when you're feeling down. I'll always be your friend, and when you're ready, I hope we can meet very soon. You just have to come back home._

_With love, Rose_


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

It's another sunny day in the city again, a perfect weekend to spend in the park with family and friends. Groups of relatives and friends wave out picnic blankets and baskets, settling it on the ground and placing food on top, most hiding out under shades of trees and artistic structures. Down the path is the busy streets of businesses where one man purchases a newspaper and relaxes at a bench. He can't help but gleam at a story, adjusting his eyeglasses and reading it: a young girl was saved from a burning house by a heroic stranger, just another ordinary citizen. He turns the page to laugh at the funnies when a blonde teenager approaches, lugging by her side a heavy cooler and drops it down by his feet.

"Dad! You're making those faces again." She pinches his cheeks and giggles.

"Hah, you take after your mother. Sorry, I was preoccupied with this, Heather. Thank you for taking it. Guess that support group actually works." He folds up the newspaper and pats the blue cooler filled with their lunch.

Chris looks up at his beautiful young daughter, the spitting image of her mother when she was a teenager; short hair, makes it like nobody's business, and most of all, both were stubborn in what they wanted. Even more so since she dyed her hair blonde and took a certain taste of fashion, wearing a loose white tank top and knee length shorts. He can't help but chuckle as she starts chasing a squirrel around a tree. Sharon had long ago abandoned her moody appearance, odd behaviour, and acted like any normal kid, except he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different with her, something that wasn't what Sharon was...maybe because now she was "Heather Mason", and the both of them living new lives in a new city again.

"Daddy...what's the special occasion?" Heather brushes her yellow hair off her eyes, her freckled face looking overly cheery and stuffed with ham sandwich.

Chris smiles and whips out a tiny box. "Don't you remember? This is the day you came back to me." He frowns now. "Have you forgotten that already?" A hint of anxiousness.

She bursts out laughing and pulls out a small present wrapped with newspaper. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You know by now I'd recognize this day." They exchange their gifts and tear the wrappings. "It's still a weird day for me to remember. There were all these crazily dressed people who took mom and me, and then they were going after you. I made up this whole story in my head but all that really happened was that we got lost and you found me."

"Of course, you were traumatized, probably confused and messed up your memory." He says, dismissively.

Chris then tears up at the sight of a miniature picture frame, hand-made, the sturdy frame speckled with plastic gems, the photograph is of Sharon recently.

"Thank you, Sharon." Chris sniffles, lifting his glasses to dry his eyes. "I mean-."

"Oh, dad. You can call me that once in a while." Heather bursts out in tears too, leaning over to hug him when a big splash sends their ice tea spilling over the blanket.

They both dab at the blanket with napkins when Heather sees something sparkling in the thermos. She shakes it out and looks at the metal locket with wonder. "What's this? My present?"

Chris looks up. "Oh, yes. I think you're ready for this, Heather." He stops what he's doing and holds her hands with an intense expression. "You have to promise me from this day forward you will never take off this necklace, promise to always have it in your possession at all times."

"Are you kidding? I'll wear this even if it doesn't match any of my outfits! I love this, dad. Thank you" She admires it for a moment. "Maybe I'll even wear it at the dance so I can show it off to my friends..."

"You're going to the dance tomorrow night?"

"Relax, I said I was going with my friends. I won't go if you really don't want me to but it would _really_ be fun." She puts on her puppy dog eyes and looks at him hopefully.

"Oh, okay, I guess. But no drinking and smoking." He falters, returning to the damp blanket.

She has a surprised expression. Her sudden fear of her father finding out that she smoked at school rises, everything at stake if her health were in any way threatened, or as her father now made her way of thinking. He's so overprotective, he once convinced her think that all strangers were evil people, developing her fear of schools and malls. Anywhere public with people. She was growing up though and getting over this little game.

"I promise." She smiles, the question of whether she could pull it off is left for the future.

"Well, looks like I'll have to wash this next week." He says, looking at the soaked blanket. "That was a pretty good meal, though, wasn't it, sweetie?"  
"Of course, dad. I promise, next week I'm making the juice. Less work for you."

Christopher lets out a dry laugh, packing everything away and looking up at the clear sky, waving the newspaper to cool his face. Something felt off. Heather stretches and lets out a long yawn, blocking her eyes from the sun and doing a full 360 to see all of her surroundings. He picks up the cooler.

"I think this was a good enough meal. Let's head back home."

Heather doesn't question her father and and heads for the streets to their car.

"Heather-"

"Oh! Sorry. I'll help with that." She tries to grab the cooler but Chris sets it down so that they're both facing each other.

"No. I just don't want you thinking that I'm just doing this to ruin your evening or even your life, but this is all for your own good. Don't give me that look. You know I love you. I'm doing the best for the both of us and I know you're trying just as hard too."

"You're being a worry bee again. Relax like I do and life is a breeze." Heather swings an arm around his neck and smiles. "Your always so tense, reminding me over and over you love me, and not to mention how protective you are- aww, dad, you know I'm just kidding."

"Heh, yeah. Your right. Let's go home." Chris lets out a relieved sigh, smiling and giving his daughter a quick hug.

Inside the stuffy car with the seats sticking to their skins, Chris mindlessly drives, the world blurring by.

"No matter where you go, I will find you and your daughter." Claudia Wolf had said.

No, Chris thought confidently, I've been careful in every aspect of our lives. We could never be found even by the best detectives. It was then that he spots a police officer in the street and is instantly reminded of a certain somebody. He knew that Gucci supposedly loved him, and Chris had tried to use that to his advantage to feed his obsession. He had no idea what became of him, but now Claudia Wolf was after them ever since that day. It's just been all accumulating: when Sharon was sick Rose took her to Silent Hill where they crashed and Sharon escaped the kidnappers and returned, then the murders happening in Brahams until Claudia Wolf came into the open to finish her job of killing his family, to rid the world of evil people like him and his daughter. Chris looks to see Heather putting the locket around her neck, smiling to know that his one way to protect Sharon was complete, barely taking notice of the radio distorting and repeating a broken up song.

"How's your new book coming along, dad?" Heather listens to the music.

"Great. A few more chapters and the new Titanic will be born."

Chris takes a turn to suddenly see the streets cluttered with trash and people sleeping on the curbs, a real ugly part of town. The music then takes his attention as he turns the knobs.

"Is the radio station bad in this part of town too?" Chris angrily asks, the only sound is the music, causing him to look to the side to find the passenger seat empty.

Down the street is a woman standing in the middle of the road, forcing him to stop, and -upon exiting- sees that she's wearing a long blue dress with bundles of yellow hair.

"Hello, 'Harry', is it?" She chuckles. "I told you I'd find you again."

The sky darkens and the city becomes a blood red, rain platters down onto the rusted metal streets and buildings.

"Wolf." Chris gasps, fully realizing where he is now. He desperately reaches into the car and turns the ignition, but it stalls, the sputtering engine going over Claudia's words.

"Do you know how many people you killed? Your wife, that investigator, and then there's that time you tried to strangle your daughter...oh, how more sweetly death would be than your cold reaction to your wife after all this time. She really did tried, you know? She talks to you but you just ignore her night after night." Claudia walks across the road, flipping her long hair behind her shoulders to reveal cold staring eyes. "I'm sorry, Chris, but it looks like you lost the war."

Before he could have any last words, a grotesque creature lunges at him, the world turning black and cold.

"Dad!" Heather screams.

Chris slams on the breaks, pedestrians in front partly scattered, startled by the car blocking the entire intersection. He looks around. Everything is normal and the woman is nowhere to be seen. Their gazes lock, both with fear in their eyes, though for Chris it was for a different reason...

No, he thought, the battle is just beginning.

In a fog smothered Silent Hill, Claudia sits calmly on a bench, praying.

Chris, the games had just begun and there can only be one survivor. Who will win?

She gets up and walks down the long aisle past long ghostly pews, behind her she leaves the dainty furniture and holy objects within the large worshipping place of God, with only silence to fill in after her footsteps as she completely blends into the background, leaving this once grand place to resume its lifelong abandonment once more.

THE END

* * *

_Some fun insider stuff!:_

_Amanda was originally supposed to be a guy named Tony. Originally, there was no side characters; basically no wife, Amanada, officers, babysitter, etc. All the sideplots were also obsolete; no Brahams' murder spree plot, Chris's obsession and his hobby as a writer, and Gucci's inner struggle throughout the story._

_References: "Cellular", "Casablanca", "Homeroom", and a novel called "Flight", which helped me write the Gucci flashback scene at the end._

_This was the first story where I actually did research and used a dictionary! I wanted it to be much darker and have the relationship between Gucci and Da Silva to be more sexual, but I downplayed it and made it more light and cuddly. Difficulties arose with making this clear for non-Silent Hill readers and dealing with the complex plots. The whole thing with Sharon being Alessa, Gucci's involvement, and Claudia and her followers were hard to clarify and show how everything came together._

_I also flinched everytime I wrote a cigarette scene, only included it to get over my passionate hatred for them. And never talk on the phone while driving or you'll end up like poor Thomas here who ended up being eaten by a monster._

_And for anyone who didn't know, an NES is an old game console, the Super Nintendo! Whoop! It's like a Game Cube or an Xbox 360 but more fun._

_This was incredibly fun and challenging story to write and hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to review or comment._


	11. Joke Ending

JOKE ENDING

Christopher drives in his Porsche, racing through and skidding nearly off cliffs only to heroically turn in time and disappear into the distance in a cloud of dust.

He makes it to Silent Hill, the sun makes his car sparkle in contrast with the dump surrounding it. He exits. He's wearing only shorts, showing off his muscles that he's toned all over his body, the sweat making it glisten.

Then a limousine strolls along, its wheels crushing the rocks and garbage beneath it, then gliding to a stop. Out comes Claudia Wolf and behind her are the cult followers with super cool expressions and doing nothing remotely productive. She's dressed up in a tightly worn dress, dark sunglasses cover her eyes giving her a mysterious sexy look.

Now they are in a final showdown. "So, now you're here...Chris."

"Wesker. I mean Claudia. I see that you're wearing a bonus costume chosen by the player."

"Yes, I see that you just decided to wear that on your own."

"Yes. Now where is my daughter, kind of repetitive considering that my wife already did that in the first movie and Harry in the first game."

"I won't be angry with you confusing my name twice now, first with Alessa. I mean, the games are kind of similar with Resident Evil: same producers, shared an actor whose character's named Bennett, etc. And let's not forget the similar monster design with you-know-who."

"..."

"Now, prepare to die, Chris!"

And in a complete boss battle, Chris takes out a boogeyman knife and lunges for the extremely dangerous woman known to kill men just by executing her secret technique. Under-dressed woman suddenly pop out of nowhere, cheering Chris on as the two fighters swear and throw out crude words. Then in one swift motion with his great knife, Chris splits Claudia in half. She falls to ground.

"Huh." Chris says, looking down at her. "That was some fight."

Just then, Thomas Gucci, riding a green car, pulls up beside him in a cloud of dust.

"Phew! Am I glad I was able to catch up with you."

Claudia makes a gurgling sound before dying.

"Umm." Chris looks at Gucci. "You could go easy on me again, right? Assaults all forgiven..."

"I don't know Chris. In both scenes you just stabbed Claudia with a knife after I tried to save you from the already suspected murders you were accused of in the first place. Now you made me miss my only redeeming scene."

"I didn't think she'd die after all that exposition about her being dangerous and killing me in the third game."

"You're not Harry. Your wife took that role but then you take it back in the next movie."

"Whatever." Chris takes out a gun and shoots him, execution style.

Then a UFO appears, taking everybody on the ground, including Christopher.

"Awww, shit." He swears as he disappears into the UFO. "I knew it was aliens killing all of those people."

THE END...?


End file.
